Red
by writer-xanthangummy
Summary: Eustass Kid and Trafalgar Law are not similar men, and they both have tumultuous histories. Regardless, Law saves Kid's life in surgery, and demands payment in return, which opens the door for whatever war may rage between the two enigmas. Kid/Law, AU, slash
1. Chapter 1

**Do I own One Piece? No.**

**Just some rough background, this story is AU and taking place in London, UK. Let me know if there is any lingo that you don't understand I'll try to address it. Also, I hope you can catch it, but I'm depicted Kid is a thick Scottish accent and Law with a very "posh" sounding accent, which would indicate that he is upper class.**

**Read and enjoy. **

The first thing that swam into Eustass Kid's vision was the sight of a long, lean back, rakish muscles twisted under a tight black and yellow shirt. He realized he was shivering, and blinked, trying to move his fingers to grasp at the blankets around him, trying to speak with his hoarse throat, but blackness was fast descending on his vision.

He didn't know how much time had passed until he woke again, and this time the man was gone. The blankets were soaked with sweat, yet he was still freezing cold. The door creaked open, the yellow light of the hall seeping into the room. The tall, skinny man from before came in and began to pull the damp blankets off his body. His motions were not careful nor kind. He stripped the bed from around Kid like a coroner ripping a sheet off a dead body.

Kid blearily watched the man above him, but again, his fingers would not obey him, his voice would not come. The shadow of the man's face only showed dark, lidded eyes. There were bags under them that spoke of many sleeplessness nights. But as the man began to wrap new, warm blankets around Kid's body, the redhead began to think that perhaps this was all a dream, and he fell asleep once more.

Finally, morning haze drifting through the curtained windows, Kid opened his eyes and found that he could feel his fingers twitching over rough, woolen fabric. Again, he was drenched in sweat, but this time he felt it to his bones. It was stifling hot in the room, and he pushed the sheets off his bare chest, the cooler air sharp on his heated, pale skin.

Again, there was the man he had seen only in fleeting, half-conscious moments. This time, he could focus on him with more clarity. He was unspeakably tall and thin, with a caramel colored skin and ink on his forearms and fingers. At the moment, he was tinkering with a tiny bag of clear fluid.

Kid's eyes followed the tube from the bag toward the needle taped to his arm, embedded in his vein. A deep rumble escaped his throat and he thought over past events. The deal had gone bad, there was gunfire, and, not for the first time, Kid was unlucky. He recalled Killer's efficient state of panic, and laying in the backseat of his car with his hand pressed to his gut, but then nothing more.

"Your fever broke."

Kid looked up. The man was looming over him, his expression cold and clinical. His voice matched, smooth and removed, layered with a high cut accent. The sick man immediately decided he did not like his caretaker.

"And who the fuck are you?" Kid grated out, his deep voice made husky from the searing thirst in his throat.

"I am Doctor Trafalgar Law," the man replied, not taken aback at all by the redhead's rude remark. "You have been under my care for three days, seven hours and..." he glanced at the clock, "forty-three minutes."

"Fantastic," Kid snapped. He pushed himself up on the bed and moaned as vertigo stole his vision away. Breathing steadily, his vision swam back together, only to show the condescending smirk on his doctor's face.

"Dizzy?" he remarked offhandedly. "That's likely the oxycodone."

Kid's fingers pinched the needle in his arm and he tore it out with a vicious curse. "Blues?" he growled. "What kind of shady backstreet wanker are you, anyway, to chock me up with blues?"

Trafalgar Law tutted, his eyes slipping away from Kid's face and toward the small stream of blood leaking from the inside of his arm. He made no move to patch it up or reinsert the needle. "I graduated from Harvard Medical School, summa cum laude. I specialize in cardiac surgery. Any more questions, Mister..." he frowned, holding up a clipboard in his hand, "Oliver Cromwell?"

Oliver Cromwell was the name that Kid often went by when he didn't want his identity discovered. It was used for doctors, coppers, and other governmental twats. Kid rolled his eyes, "Who gave you that name?"

"Guy Fawkes," the doctor responded with a chuckle. "To be honest, his alias is better suited than yours. I mean, Cromwell was an Englishman, but you even grunt like a Scot."

Killer, then. The name suited him more than the doctor could know, for he was, by nighttime, a masked murderer. Even in daylight, a person would be hard pressed to see more than a few squares inches of his face.

"And where is Fawkes now?" Kid asked. His eyes and fingers prodded at his chest, feeling the bandages, sensing the sore skin, the stitches.

Trafalgar settled into an armchair positioned halfway across the room, his impossibly long legs crossed, his ankle resting on his knee. Both of his arms stretched over the back of his chair, his fingers dangling like spiders. Only now did Kid read the word etched across them: death.

"I sent him away. I don't trust another conscious man in my home." His eyes flittered to the window. "But he isn't far. He's been watching the place since he left you here, and I don't think he's slept much, if at all." He appraised Kid for a moment, and then shook his head, as though the man was found lacking. "You have a very loyal comrade."

Kid twisted to the window, clawing at the curtain until he pulled it open. There, on the corner, right outside the townhouse, was a black car. Inside he spotted a mane of blonde hair, his tanned fingers lazily flicking a cigarette out the window. "I'm glad he is there," he asserted, "I'm happy he didn't trust me with a creep like you."

"I hear that a lot," Trafalgar replied, but his eyes were darkening as he spoke. "But I won't take it from the likes of you. You know, I had to wash off all the filthy make up from your face once it started to drip." His nose wrinkled in clear disgust. "Even without it, you still look like a freak."

Flicking the crimson hair from his eyes, Kid began to snarl like a wounded animal. "You really are one rude motherfucker. At least I know who I am."

First, the doctor raised an eyebrow at Kid, and then he raised his middle finger. "I'm glad you know who you are, Mr. Cromwell, because I'm going to need a name. A real name."

Kid frowned. "Why would I give you something like that?"

Trafalgar did not respond with words immediately. He stood, and flicked open a silver case sitting on a stand. Rifling through the contents, he pulled out a canister, a syringe and needle. Twirling it across his talented palms, the injector was quickly loaded. Smirking like a madman, the doctor squirted a bit of excess on to the wooden panel floorboards.

"A life-saving surgery and three days of the highest medical care is not for free."

"I have money," Kid spat, "What kind of fool do you think I am?"

"So you have five thousand pounds hiding somewhere on your person then?"

Kid's jaw dropped. "Five thousand pounds?" he spluttered, "Why don't I just give you a fucking car?"

Trafalgar tilted his head, bemused for a moment. "I have no need nor want for a car," he concluded, "I take the tube."

"Oh, right," Kid drawled sarcastically, "A Prince William like yourself takes the tube, I'm sure."

"I don't think Prince William takes the tube, Mr. Cromwell."

Gritting his teeth, Kid realized that humor was a dead end street with this man. "I meant you, fuckface, because of your bloody accent. Whatever. I'm not paying you five damn thousand pounds, not in a millions years." He cracked his knuckles and stretched his sore joints, pushing the creaking joints in his knees as he sat up fully.

"Why don't I just kill you right now, Doctor Trafalgar, and we call it a sealed deal?" Kid's threat was more than true to his word. He didn't want to pay the man the money, but even more so, he didn't want some high class snot on the street with way too much information floating around in his brain. The thought of it left a bad taste in his mouth. It was best to just wipe the slate clean with a nice, red smear of blood.

The doctor shrugged off the death threat, twirling the syringe over his knuckles. "A name, good sir, or I'll inject you with a highly concentrated serum of morphine."

Kid eyed the liquid warily - was the doctor bluffing? "So you claim to be the killing type, huh? Do you even know what you're messing with?"

"No," Trafalgar replied shortly, "Which is why I'm pressing you for a name. And it's not murder." He stroke the shaft of the needle with his fingernail, "It's euthanasia."

"You're sick," Kid growled from between gritted teeth.

There was a soft clatter as the threatening medical tool landed back on the tray beside Trafalgar's silver case. Fingers still brushing over the surface of it, the doctor said, "The fact of the matter is that _you_ are no longer sick. And for that service, _for saving your life_, I am asking for measly five thousand pounds." He reached into the back pocket of his spotted jeans and pulled out a card, which he handed to Kid.

Kid tore it from his fingers, reading the front of it. Trafalgar Law, MD, University College Hospital. Flipping the card, there was another number scrawled on the back, with the word _cell _next to it.

"I'm being reasonable. I don't expect it all at once. I won't breath a word that I ever saw you, I won't report you to the police, and your heart will keep beating..." Trafalgar finally lifted his fingers from his weapon. "Just tell me your name, and promise to pay me."

The patient closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He was furious. Any man who dared insult and threaten him would usually be pummeled to the ground by now, yet this doctor remained standing. It wasn't misplaced morals because the man had saved his life, and it wasn't because Kid was too wounded to snap the skinny neck. But honestly, he could not place the reason. He hated the man he shared a room with, loathed him, but something about the dreamlike care Kid recalled, the soft fingers and warm blankets...something held him back.

Besides, he could easily find the money. Kid had his connections and a healthy business. It was just a matter of pride.

"Eustass Kid," he surrendered, speaking his name.

"What?" the doctor spoke sharply.

Kid opened his eyes, strands of crimson hair falling across his chiseled features as shadows crept over his face. "Eustass Kid," he growled again, "is my fucking real name. You'll be able to find me with that alone, but I occasionally can be found at the mechanic shop in Hackney. It's called the Adventure Galley Garage."

"A mechanic," Trafalgar replied flatly. "And your name is Kid."

"Got a fucking problem?" Kid's voice began to raise.

Trafalgar raised his brow for a moment, and then shook his head. "Not at all," he reassured his patient. "Not as long as you pay me."

"I will." The redhead kicked off his covers and threw his legs over the side of the bed, scowling at the generic boxers he'd been stuffed in. "Now give me my fucking trousers and let me out of here."

* * *

It was three in the afternoon and Kid was brooding, stuck in bumper to bumper traffic downtown. Killer was driving, bandana tied tight around the bottom of his face, his bangs covering the rest of his scarred skin.

"I'm bumming a smoke," Kid said shortly, reaching for the pack stuck in the cupholder. Killer's hand swatted the redhead's away.

"I don't think you can smoke," he replied, "I haven't fully read the list of recovery steps that the doctor gave you, but I assure you that smoking it probably on there."

Kid scowled, "Fuck that doctor," he groaned, crossing his arms over his chest. "I can't believe you took me to that guy. Do you know how much of a psycho he is?"

Killer lifted off the gas as they inched forward, and then pressed on the brakes again. "I've heard things about him. Surgeon of Death is his street name. But without professional medical attention you would have died, and he appeared to be a better option than the hospital."

"Hospital's free," Kid remarked. "Five thousand pounds, can you believe that shit?"

His partner appeared unfazed, though. "We can afford it. It's better than loosing your life, Kid."

"Whatever," the redhead scoffed. He knew better than to argue with Killer. The blonde may be loyal to him, but his intelligence and knowledge far outweighed Kid's own. Despite the reversal of roles, Killer was much like an older brother to Kid, and unless it was an issue that Kid was adamant about, Killer would often get his way.

"So what happened, then, after you dropped me off?" Kid asked, changing topics. "Did you take care of that deal?"

Killer rolled up the window, which had been cracked to air out the tense atmosphere in the car. "Capone's men?" he asked. "I killed them all."

A stretching, manic smile broke out on Kid's face. "Good," he hissed, beaming across the car at his best mate. "Although I would've liked to play with that man's small intestine myself, I'm glad you got the job done."

Although Kid could not see his friend's mouth, he could sense the frown in Killer's piercing blue eyes. "You shouldn't play with small intestines, Kid. It's rather unsanitary."

Kid rolled his eyes and reached for the dial in the center of the console, turning up the music. He leaned back and stretched out his legs in front of him as much as he could in the confined space. Allowing his eyes to flutter closed, the background noise of honking horns and the cursing public faded. "Tell that to Trafalgar Law," he murmured, feeling himself begin to drift off. "I'm sure he loves to play with intestines, too."

Killer eased up on the brake and the car crept forward a little bit again. "Maybe that's why you don't get along," he analyzed. "The two of you are very similar men...and yet very different."

"Shut up, Sherlock, that made no sense."

"Yes, Captain."

* * *

In the meantime, Trafalgar Law was frowning down at a steaming hot cup of black coffee. He grasped the sides of the paper vessel, raising it to his lips, before frowning and setting it back down. The caffeine was well needed, but he would just have to be patient for it to cool.

Around him, the hospital was anything but quiet. The halls were bustling, wheels whirring on stretchers and wheelchairs, machines beeping, conversations passing by at whirlwind speed. He listened closely as fast-paced footsteps echoed down the hall and came to a short stop at the break room door.

"La - Law..." the nurse Penguin panted in the doorway. Law looked up and cocked an eyebrow at his subordinate and friend.

"Good afternoon, Penguin. Don't worry, I know my schedule for the day, you don't have to inform me. Mister Cavanaugh at four, correct, open bypass?"

Penguin caught his breath, stumbling in the room and crashing in the one rickety wooden chair. "That's not what I mean, and you know it," he berated. "Where have you been? You were on call and you never picked up, never came in."

The coffee had finally cooled, and Law sipped it quietly. "I took some sick days," he said simply.

Groaning, Penguin took off his hat and ran his hands through his dark hair. "Jesus Christ, Law, I don't understand how you keep your job here sometimes."

This incited a chuckle from the dark surgeon. "They could fire me if they'd like, I don't care. It's just something to keep myself busy. You know what my main source of income is, dear friend."

Law could nearly hear Penguin's heart palpitating as the man cast nervous glances around and shushed his superior as respectively as he could. He got up and inched closer, so close that the hairs on their arms brushed together. "I know," he whispered, "But really, Law, will you tell me what you were actually doing?"

The doctor considered not answering. Penguin had a habit of blowing things out of proportion. He took a deeper chug from the cooling beverage and licked the excess off his thin lips. "I made an investment," he finally admitted. "And honestly, I'm not sure where it'll lead...but it'll likely be interesting."

Interesting, indeed. The man he had operated on had an astounding physique; brute strength that was unrivaled on any human he'd analyzed before, an unusually vibrant genetic make up, and the pulsing hormones of an animal that would need to be taken down with horse tranquilizers. Aside from this, there were the scars, bullet wounds and scrapes and bones that had been shattered and ill-set back together. Eustass Kid was young, not a day over twenty five by Law's judgement, but his body spoke of a war-hardened soldier who had been out on the lines for fifty years.

Usually, Law would have said no the moment Mr. Guy Fawkes arrived on his doorstep, toting a bloodied monster of a man and requesting medical aid. But that was when Mr. Eustass cracked open his blood-caked eyes and fixed him with a stare, made even more intense with his burning, golden eyes. It was so fierce that even Law, who had witnessed the darkest areas of belligerence, was slightly unsettled. For the first time in a very long time, he had felt the stirring of a small flame deep within the ice of his facade. And instead of snuffing it out, he was a fool.

He fed the fire.

"It's been a long time since I've seen you show interest in anything," Penguin remarked. Law found that his friend had leaned in and was studying his face carefully. Uncomfortable, Law turned his head.

"Don't look to much into it," he insisted. "Like I said, I don't know where it's going as of now." The doctor finished his coffee and crumpled the cup, tossing it in the trash. "Let's prep for the surgery, I need to scrub."

Penguin sighed, giving in that he was not to find out anything more on the topic just yet. "Whatever you say, Captain," he conceded. "Do you want to go over the patient's file one more time?"

Law chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't be silly, now," he chided. His lips twisted up in a fearless sneer, "I'm just going to open the man up and tinker around, anyway, so what difference would it make?"

And with that, the doctor left, leaving his nurse behind, who just wiped his sweating pants on the front of his blue pants and chewed on his lower lip anxiously. "God bless malpractice insurance," he murmured, before roughly washing his hands and scampering off to pre-op, a bit afraid, but even more so just slightly excited to take part in the surgeon's room once again.

* * *

_Just trying out something new, since I'm halfway through my last bit for The Switch and I just hit awful writer's block there. So this is the start of the Kid/Law fiction I've been outlining for a while, figured I just needed to get it out there_.


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own One Piece. This fiction is rated M for a reason. **

Kid had been in the garage all day. His back was sore, his muscles were burning, and his fingers were covered in grease. He scooted out from under the belly of the truck and pushed his goggles back up to his brow, wiping the sweat from his eyes with the back of his forearm.

It had been three months since he had been patched up by Trafalgar shady surgeon Law, and he had not seen hide nor hair of the man since. There was never a phone call, a bill, or even a threat like a slashed tire or a smashed window. Despite Killer's protests that this was a ill omen, Kid ignored the entire lot of the mess. He continued on with his daily life, working on vehicles in the daytime and making money at night.

But this week was quiet. Business was running smoothly on both fronts, and there was no need for Kid to get involved in any affairs for a while longer. Tonight, he planned on closing up shop, downing a few at the pub, and then steaming himself raw in the shower before passing out.

Kid snatched up a dirty rag and wiped the worst of the oil off his hands, tossing it aside. He flicked off the main lights and began to lock things up, picking at his white, stained t-shirt with two fingers to air it out from all the sweat stains. It was a hopeless cause, though, as the fabric stayed stuck to his skin, clinging tightly and making him uncomfortably overheated.

Groaning and worn out, the mechanic climbed the stairs to the office where he had ditched his things, a run down and shabby room massed with untouched papers and other things that he often let Killer handle. He had to work at the knob to open it with his slippery fingers, but once inside, he fumbled on the single light and began to gather his coat, wallet, keys...

"Good evening, Eustass. Awfully late night tonight?"

Kid stiffened and bit his tongue to keep from yelping out in surprise. Although he recognized the voice, he still turned to see the doctor, donning lab coat and scrubs, sitting with his feet kicked up on the messy deck.

"A phone call would have sufficed," Kid snapped. "When you trespass like this you are basically asking for me to break your jaw in."

Law snickered softly. "But I wanted to see you, Eustass. A doctor needs to check up on his patient's recovery."

Kid ripped up his shirt, revealing the faded scar on his torso from the previous bullet wound. "It's been three months, don't fuck with me. I know that's not why you're here."

The doctor across from him raised his hands in mock surrender. "You got me," he chimed, and then lowered his eyes and voice, the serious nature of the situation unfolding. "I need the money, Eustass. I need it tonight."

Kid cocked his head to the side, forehead furrowed with thought. "Tonight?" he murmured. Then he threw back his head and let out a loud bark of laughter. "How about _no_, Trafalgar? With notice like this, you can dream on."

Law's fingers danced across his coat pockets, a shadow cast over his eyes from his fur-rimmed hat. "Are you telling me..." he whispered, "...that you don't have the money?"

"Oh, I do," the mechanic chuckled. He had his hands in his back pockets, but every muscle in his body was tensed for the fight. "But I'm sure as hell not gonna pay out when you pull a move like this."

The air between the two men had grown taut and thin. Neither of them moved, not even an inch, as though afraid of startling the other into open fire. Although muted, Kid could hear the rough sound of the doctor gritting his teeth in frustration, and Law could hear Kid tapping his painted fingernails against the side of his own leg.

Last time Kid had seen the Surgeon of Death, he felt that he had been physically compromised. The medication he had been doped up on was what he attributed his even temper to, as well as the likely culprit of Stockholm Syndrome or the like. Regardless, these feelings had long dissipated. The man in front of him had trespassed on his territory and was now poking at his pride. There would be no retribution.

There were several likely moves that Kid expected from the doctor. The man would try threats, then bargaining, and then physical action - it always went the same when a man was backed into a corner. Sensing the diplomatic attempts were about to open up, Kid grinned maniacally as Law leaned back in the chair, took his feet off the desk, and folded his hands on his lap.

"Very well."

Kid's eyes widened perceptively in his skull. "What?" he snapped.

"Very well," Law repeated. "I shouldn't have expected you to concede to my request at such short notice. After all, you might have just assumed I fell off the face of the earth. It has been three months. Anything could have happened." He tipped up his hat and leered at Kid. "Were you worried?"

"Try elated." Kid narrowed his eyes at the snarky man. "But, let me just double check this, huh? So you come all the way out here, wait up for me, and then just say it's _okay _when I refuse to pay you?"

Law shrugged, "I try not to let things bother me, Eustass. It's a calm life."

Kid didn't trust this man half as far as he could throw him. He shrugged his leather jacket over his broad shoulders and zipped it up, stuffing his keys and wallet in his pockets. "Fine, then," he hissed. "I'm not going to question a good thing. Let's go. I'll see you out."

Kicking up off the ground, Law stood and accompanied Kid down the stairs to the garage, never minding the redhead at his back, never casting looks over his shoulder. As they reached the door, Kid jangled with his keys and then held it open for the doctor. "Go on," he said, "Get."

Law stepped outside, and then raised his finger, pausing, and turned back around. "And you know, since I care about my patients so dearly...I figured I should give you fair warning."

"Warning for what?" Kid growled.

"You see..." Law tried to plaster on an innocent look on his face, which just made the man look even more demented. "I owe these lovely loan sharks a good five thousand pounds. But funnily enough, I've never met the guys. So when I took out the loan I decided to fill it out with the name and address of a man named Eustass Kid."

"What?" Kid's hand jolted out and gripped Law's shoulder with a bone crushing force. The doctor did not even wince.

"And..." Law brushed at Kid's hand, which did nothing to dislodge him, but definitely enraged the redhead even further. "The deal is kind of due tonight. So they're going to come looking for you." Law glanced around Kid's shoulder into the dark and empty garage. "And you're all alone this evening...What a shame!" He tutted and shook his head. "I certainly do hope you have the money, Eustass."

The door slammed shut and Trafalgar found himself on the inside this time, his hat on the floor, and Kid had a handful of his hair clenched in his fist. "You son of bitch," he cursed, spittle landing on the doctor's face.

Law slipped hand inside his coat pocket, closing his grasping fingers around the cold hilt of a knife, but before he could pull it out, Kid flung him across the room, landing on the hood of a Volkswagen, the windshield cracking under the force of impact. The wind was blown out of Law's lungs, and he rolled in pain, his body convulsing in on itself.

It didn't take long for Kid to descend on him again, holding him down by his collar so he could land a punch across Law's face. The doctor could feel the veins break under his skin. Another punch, and the skin broke above his eye, blood leaking into his vision.

"You have a temper," Law groaned, "I suspected as much." The glint of the blade flashed in the illumination from the streetlights outside, right before it found purchase in Kid's left shoulder. It went in to the hilt, a straight shot, that missed all vital arteries and came nowhere near the bone. Just as quickly as it was jabbed in, Law pulled out, like a snake with its bite.

The doctor expected the shock of the pain to light up on Kid's face, but the man, still holding him down, did not even flinch. Turning his bloodied face to the side, Law caught a glimpse of Kid's blackened eyes. The man was pumping adrenaline so fast through his system that not even the sharp pain of the blade had registered. The onset of this rage was so swift and so intense - it was unlike anything Law had witnessed before.

"I'm going to kill you, Trafalgar," Kid spoke simply. Although veins were pulsating in his brow, his muscles twitching, the man sounded as though he were making a clear declaration over a cup of coffee. And for the first time in a long time, Law felt the icy grip of fear settle around his heart. The doctor believed him.

He was hoisted up by his collar. Although Law was tall, Kid was taller, and he shook the doctor before pinning him to the wall. Law's skull slammed back against the concrete surface and a wave of vertigo caused his vision to swim out of focus.

When Law's eyes came to, he saw Kid grinning down at him, every one of his teeth showing, down to his unusually sharp incisors. "I dare say you're getting off on this, Eustass," Law managed to cough out.

"Damn right I am," Kid chuckled. "No whore could make me stiffer than the sight of your blood, you fucking manipulative bastard."

The doctor raised his arm and pressed the edge of the blade up toward Kid's neck, right along his jugular. But the redhead just pushed his body down on the blade. "Go on," he hissed, "Make me bleed. I'm still going to paint the walls with you."

Light flooded the room.

Blinded, both men twisted toward the front door. There were three men, each toting impressive illegal arms. The one in the front had his hand on the light switch, and he looked just about as surprised as the doctor and mechanic. But rapidly, his face fell into a soft smile, and he tossed aside the fringe of his longer blonde hair.

"Did we interrupt a domestic dispute, boys?" he teased, casting a glance over his shoulder at the two men behind him, one a sturdier brunette and the other more lithe. The men murmured affirmation and cocked their weapons.

"Well, I'm afraid you two lovebirds are going to have to settle this later," the blonde said, "Because we have some money to collect." His eyes settled on Kid. "You must be Eustass, I've heard of you. Let's not make this difficult. You pay, we leave. Simple as that."

Kid slowly lowered Law back to the ground, where the doctor was able to struggle to regain his breath. He turned his head slowly to the intruders, eyes flashing over each of them and taking inventory of their weapons. "Don't...interfere," he spat.

The blonde looked a little unsettled. He nearly took a step backward, before standing his ground. "Just pay us, and we'll have no need to, Eustass. Come on now, be a reasonable bloke."

Law was on the other side of the room by now, picking up his hat off the ground and placing it back on his head. Under the shadow from the rim, if anyone had looked, they would have seen the sickest smirk spreading on his thin lips. "Reasonable," he snickered to himself. "Not by my plan."

Exactly as predicted, Kid did not act reasonably. He charged the men, armed with firearms, before they had a chance to think twice, moving like a bull who had seen red. It took some time for the men to react, and once they did, each only got off one shot, and two of them missed. One bullet slammed into Kid's left forearm, where it broke skin...and then ricocheted off.

"What the bloody hell -" started the blonde, who had made the successful shot, but he never got to finish his sentence, because Kid was heading straight for him. The punch fell, and instead of tumbling, the man literally went flying, skittering across the garage floor. Kid did not go back for him, but moved on, ripping the revolver from the sturdy brunette's hand and gripping it by the barrel. Smiling now, he brought down the butt across the man's face and broke his nose neatly down the bridge.

"More interesting than I expected..." Law murmured. He raised his eyebrow at the thinner brunette who was coming at him from behind. Dagger still in hand, he gripped the man's right arm and brought it into the air, twisting until it snapped and the firearm broke free. With his other hand, Law swiped his blade under the inside of his arm and sliced clean through the vital artery there.

Kid has reengaged with the blonde now, who was desperately scrambling for his gun to no avail. The redhead had him pinned, and straddling his flailing body, he landed punch after punch, blunt smacking noises echoing throughout the room. Finally, he drew his hands back, each drenched with blood, and kicked himself up off the body. In one fleeting glance, Law could already tell that the blonde's skull had been broken in.

But the doctor had his own "patient" to attend to. He gave a pitying glance down at the man at his knees, who was struggling to his feet, grasping his wounded arm to his side. Law's inked fingers found purchase in the man's short brown locks, and he twisted his head to reveal his neck...and then sliced. The man gurgled, flailed, and died twitching on the floor.

The final man, the thicker built one with brown hair, was clutching his nose, which was spewing blood on the floor. He cast glances at the two madmen in his company and made for the door.

But Kid got to him first, gripping his shoulder and throwing him upward, over his own body, and then back down on the ground. Kid raised the heel of his boot and slammed it down repeated into the man's neck, again and again, until the skin broke and the greasy, oil-covered sole of his boot went through the victim's windpipe.

Law watched, cleaning the blood off of his blade, as Kid continued to stamp on the dead man's body until there was the loud snap of a broken spine. Then the redhead wiped his shoe on the man's shirt and turned, grin still plastered on, his full attention directed back at the doctor.

"You're next," Kid promised.

"Don't be ridiculous," Law insisted, pocketing his dagger, and showing Kid his empty hands. "What would be the point in it? The issue at hand is taken care of. That blonde -" Law gestured, "Was the head of their pathetic little operation. Therefore, no more loan sharks will be after either your head or mine. And..." he took a few relaxed steps closer to Kid, "...since you took care of this messy problem for me, I'd say that we can call your debt even."

"You idiot." Kid gripped the front of Law's coat and dragged his face so close that the doctor could smell his breath. Briefly, Law wondered how a man of such size could move so swiftly. "It was never about the money."

Law placed his hand over Kid's, gently gliding his fingers over the rough and callused knuckles. "Neither was it for me."

Kid's eyes widened slightly; surprise, showing that the man was processing emotion again. Thereby, he was already coming down from his fit of rage, and beginning to fall back into his analytical state of thinking. "What do you mean?" he pressed.

"I am a doctor, Eustass," Law responded. "I have plenty of money. But there is only one of you in the world. And you are what I have interest in."

"Why?" Kid snarled.

The doctor's eyes flittered over the man's body. He thought of a million things to say: Kid's left arm, his brute strength, his crimson hair, his overgrown size, his golden eyes, the scars on his body, his crooked nose, his fits of black ire... But that would all be giving away too much.

"I just do, Mr. Eustass. Call it intuition, but I think that we could have a...camaraderie of sorts."

Kid shook his head. "Absolutely not. I fucking hate you."

"The feeling is mutual," Law drawled, "But try..." he chuckled, "Try to be a reasonable bloke, would you?"

This time it worked. Kid loosened his fingers around Law's cuff and released the man. He took a step backward and cast his eyes around the garage. A damaged windshield and three dead bodies, along with at least a couple of liters of blood splattered on the concrete. That would be a bitch to clean out.

"Fine," he finally said. "But you're helping me clean up this wreck."

Law's eyes landed on the three dead bodies. "It would be my pleasure."

* * *

It was two hours later, and the garage reeked of chemicals, but the floors and walls were clean, and Kid had just finished fixing the broken windshield. He rotated to scowl at his companion in the room, who had turned the workbench into the most unsanitary operating table that the mechanic had ever seen.

Law had started with a simple autopsy on the men, which really irked Kid, but he had kept his mouth shut. But once the doctor began to dismember and mutilate the bodies, even he found the situation a little offbeat. So for the last hour or so, the two of them had been bickering and cursing back and forth over who was more mentally unstable.

"You enjoy taking apart cars and seeing what makes them tick," Law compared, "I just like to do the same with human bodies."

"You aren't even wearing gloves," Kid said. He opened the mini-fridge in the corner and fetched out a beer. He lifted another to offer to Law but the doctor shook his head. Shrugging, Kid returned it to its place on the shelf and kicked the fridge shut.

"Why would I? They are dead, and free of infectious disease. Besides," his eyes lit up with excitement, "It's a different feeling when you can touch someone's organs with your bare skin."

Kid picked up one of the jars of hearts that Law had set aside, sloshing the organ around in its own blood. "Sick in the head," he muttered, "A regular grade-A psycho, that's what you are."

"Hold this," Law snapped, handing Kid a coiled round of small intestine. Reflexively, Kid grabbed it, and then grimaced, feeling the pink organ slide over his fingers. "Besides, Eustass," the doctor began his counterargument, "Despite my radical interests, I always view the situation through a logical and pragmatic lens. The same cannot be said for you."

Kid tossed the slop of organ on the table, and wiped his hands on the front of his jeans. "Logic, right..." he muttered. "Well if that's logic, then I want no part of it, thanks."

Law's fingers were deep in the blonde man's guts. He pinched at the liver and frowned, "Interesting..." he whispered. Kid rolled his eyes and took another swig from his beer.

"If you say that one more time, I'm going to bash your teeth in, Trafalgar."

The doctor gripped the liver with both hands and pulled it free, dropping that organ into another jar. Then he wiped up and bagged the last of the remains, cleaning the table down. "Well," he said, "That's the last of it." He rolled up his sleeves and made his way to the sink, and then looked down distastefully at the faucet.

"What, too complicated for you, doctor?" Kid teased.

Law shook his head, lips pursed. "Turn it on for me, would you, Eustass? I don't want to slime up the handles."

"No," Kid snapped.

"Eustass, we'll just have to clean them again if you don't just turn it on for me."

"Not happening, Trafalgar. I'm only turning on the faucet for you if I get to waterboard you with it."

Law sighed, and used his elbows to twist the knobs until the faucet was spewing a fair amount of scalding hot water. He stuck his hands under and scrubbed them until they were red and raw, and then some more. Finally, he picked up a towel and swiped himself dry, turning to face Kid.

"I'll take care of the remains," he said, collecting the set of black bags he had, filled with various bits and pieces of their victims. Kid eyed the man suspiciously.

"Really?" he asked. "You're going to take those on the tube with you?"

But the doctor was already on his way to the door, bags slung over his shoulder, laughing to himself. "Of course not," he said, glancing back at Kid. "You're going to drive me." He opened the front door and turned off the lights, waiting expectantly in the doorframe for Kid to follow after him.

"Coming?" he chimed.

Kid finished his beer and tossed it in the bin, ripping his keys from his jacket pocket. "You've got to be kidding me, Trafalgar," he said. But the venom in his voice was gone. He followed the doctor out the door and shut and locked it behind them, helping the man load up the trunk and climbing in the driver's seat.

"I swear to you." Kid turned on the ignition and faced the doctor in his passenger seat, who barely even glanced at the man addressing him, "One day, I will be the one to kill you, Trafalgar. You mark my words."

Law glanced at the redhead, taking in the man's features as the city lights danced across his face. "I don't doubt that, Mr. Eustass, you shall one day be the death of me."

* * *

_Let me know if you guys have any questions about why I depict the characters the way I do! I have done a lot of thinking about it, so I'm happy to explain. On another note, thank you so much for all the reviews already. I'm so glad that this has been well received, and I plan to continue!_


	3. Chapter 3

**I do not own the One piece.**

"Organs," Killer repeated.

"That's what I said." Kid was frying bacon in a cast iron pan over the stove, tossing glances over his shoulder at his friend, who was seated at the sofa, a mug of coffee in his hands and between his two knees.

Killer took a sip of the black beverage, his lips pursed tightly, the only sign of emotion on his hidden and blank face.

"What?" Kid snapped, sensing the tension in the air. "It's a business, a damned good one I'd imagine."

The bottom of the mug was all Kid could see from the kitchenette as Killer downed the last of it in one swift gulp. He cleared his scalding throat and set the ceramic ware back on the table with a scrape. "It's a dirty business, that's what it is, Kid."

Scowling, Kid tossed the bacon on a plate next to a good half dozen eggs. He snatched two bent forks and slammed the meal down in front of his friend. "And it isn't our business, so why the fuck should I care if it's messy?" Kid argued. He stabbed a piece of bacon and shoved the greasy strip whole into his mouth.

Killer went about eating his meal delicately in turn. "I'm just saying that I don't trust this man. And I don't think you should either."

Kid barked a loud laughter, kicking back to sit next to his friend. "Trust? Who the hell said anything about trust? You think I'd trust a man who has already underhanded me a handful of times?" He grabbed his own mug, which was coffee, but with a splash of Irish whiskey, and took a sip. "So he gets his jollies out a little bizarre, but it isn't my issue."

"So what is the issue, then?" Killer pressed, "Why haven't you slaughtered him yet?"

"Tried," Kid said through a mouthful of eggs, "But after we were interrupted, I got to thinking that maybe the posh bastard could be useful." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "I mean, think about how different Heat would look if we had gotten him fixed up right."

Killer placed down his fork and sighed heavily, "Kid, Heat doesn't care. None of us care. We know what business we're in. We know the stakes when we get into it."

"Whatever," Kid dismissed the blonde's argument, acting as though he couldn't be bothered less. But unconsciously, his eyes flickered to his left arm - a medical work of art to itself, the last parting gift Kid got from the war. Part prosthetic, part metal plating, but meshed in harmony with what survived of his skin and nerves. If it wasn't for what Kid had done, they would have slapped the man with the cheapest instrument on the market and shipped him home. Only Killer knew that Kid has sold what was left of his demon soul while he was in the deserts, and this arm was his reward.

"Anyway," Kid spoke, polishing off the last of his breakfast. "He has a job for us."

Killer nodded, "That makes more sense. Although I find it hard to believe he can't get what he needs to know from some overpaid hacker."

Kid chuckled, "Those typing wankers really think they can put us out of business, don't they?" Flashing a grin of too many teeth, he slung his arm around Killer's thinner frame. "But both you and I know that people believe their information is safer up here," he said, tapping the side of his temple.

"Until they meet us," Killer murmured, the corners of his lips twitching upward.

"Until they meet us," Kid echoed.

Killer stood and collected the dishes, tossing them in the sink and scrubbing them clean. "So who's the bird that the doctor wants us to make sing?" he inquired, passing Kid the utensils for the redhead to dry.

Kid tossed aside the barmop and pulled a folded slip of paper from his back pocket, squinting at the script. "A...uh..." he turned it to the side and frowned. Killer leaned around his friend and glanced at the writing.

"Samuel Dawson," Killer read. He wiped his hands dry on the rag and pressed the damp towel up against Kid's bare chest. "I'll browse the networks and find him. What does the doctor need to know from Mr. Dawson?"

"I was told to ask where the clown's laboratory is."

Killer opened his laptop and looked up from the glow of the screen. "The clown's laboratory?"

Kid turned about, the cast iron pan clutched in his grip now. "Oi, you know the drill. We don't go poking. I don't care if the clown's name is Bobo and he makes balloons. We get the answer, we pass it on, we close the file."

The blonde nodded and started running through various search engines as quickly as he could, until a noise from the kitchenette startled him. Glancing up again, he saw Kid doubled over, clutching his scarred torso, shaking with silent laughter.

"The clown, though?" Kid snickered, "I feel bad for the poor bitch who got stuck with that street name."

Killer nodded, "Me too, Captain. Me too."

About an hour passed afterward, during which Killer continued to flip through databases and social networking sites, taking down notes on their client. Kid finished cleaning the dishes and amused himself furthermore by throwing four inch daggers at the wall. The splintered wood and cracked paint crowded one sector of the wall, almost like a mural in its own fashion.

Kid tried to clear his head as he felt the weight of the hilt in his hand, tossed, and heard a satisfying _thump_ when the blade was embedded in the wall. He tried to became engrossed in the rhythm of things, but for some reason, he could feel every needle sting of pain in his left arm. It felt cold again, a psychological chill that had settled in the marrow long ago.

* * *

It was only a handful of years before when Kid had been arguing with a salesman outside not too far outside of Kabul. The heat was oppressive - he had a white scarf around his head and was wearing torn, old combat pants from some lost soldier and a linen peasant top that was colored shit brown.

"Don't _in sha Allah_ me!" he screamed at the man, repositioning the firearm strapped to his back. "It'll happen by tomorrow, because _I _will it, get it?"

The man said a smattering of things in return, half in English and half in Farsi. Kid was about to reach the edge of his patience when the salesman pointed over his soldier to the dunes beyond and murmured, "Americans."

Kid whipped around, already feeling the sweat-soaked hairs on the back of his neck raise. Both he and the salesman stood stock still as the soldiers pulled up in their jeeps and dismounted. Each of them slung their firearms around to be cradled under their arms as they approached.

"Afternoon, gentlemen," the taller American greeted with more cockiness than any human could be given credit for. Kid scowled.

"What?" he growled, "Look, we'll be on our way in a second." He pulled the automatic rifle off his back and tossed it on the ground at his feet. "You can confiscate it if you'd like, doesn't make shit difference to me. I ran out of ammo weeks ago."

The soldiers had been momentarily alarmed when he pulled the firearm from his back, but relaxed when it was off his person and on the ground. "Thanks, but that's not what we came out here for," the taller man replied. He turned to the native and shooed him off. "Go on! _Boro gomsho!"_

The salesman with whom Kid had been negotiating with nearly tripped over his own feet as he stumbled off back to his own van, kicking the dying engine into gear and taking off back down the main road.

Alone with the soldiers now, Kid eyed the men, their positions, and his car, calculating his chances of busting their faces in and making a run for it. It was a shit luck deal. Meanwhile, the one soldier was still trying to chat with him, spouting stuff about getting swindled by local businessmen.

"Cut to the chase," Kid ground out, squinting through the sunlight to try to catch glimpses of their shadowed faces under their hats.

"We're looking for a redhead Scottish bastard by the name of Eustass Kid," the man finally admitted. "The colonel thinks he could help with our operation."

Kid scoffed and tried to hack up spit in the back of his parched throat to ease the smoothness of his voice. "Tell your colonel that the Scottish bastard is under no obligation to help that Yankee motherfucker."

The soldier laughed loudly, slapping his mate on the back. "Yankee!" he chortled loudly for half a minute, before he petered out into seriousness once more. He didn't cock the gun or indicate its readiness, but the muscles of his upper arm twitched on the right side, as though tensing for something. It wasn't an action that Kid would miss.

"The situation is, Mister Eustass, that you actually have lots of reasons to help our colonel. You see, once he heard you were in the area, we did some research." Kid was hardly listening at this point, because from behind him, another jeep had pulled up, this one unpacking three soldiers. He was completely surrounded.

"So what? Am I on Wikipedia or something?" Kid sneered.

The soldier chuckled and shook his head. "No, no, but boy you are a funny one! No, but we did find out about how you were 14 when you beat a man to death in a pub in Ireland. Then reappeared two years later in a bank robbery in Detroit in the states. And then...how old were you? Nineteen, I think, when you evaded UN forces in Somalia who were trying to peg you for _piracy_."

Kid was unfazed. He knew his life story and much more than that, and although it was amusing to listen to the man become more and more overwhelmed with arrogance as he spoke, it wasn't on Kid's priority list. The rap sheet would continue, he was sure, but he had a plan involving a sideways maneuver, a broken jaw and -

"...but colonel can't be here to personal meet you, Mister Eustass...because he figured that he'd pick up your blondie faggot friend first."

And that was when Kid's blood ran cold.

* * *

_Thump_.

Killer closed his laptop and, with deft fingers, stole the last dagger from Kid's fingertips right before he could toss it.

"Samuel Dawson," he began his brief. "He works at the nuclear power plant in Sizewell, Suffolk. Married to Jeanette Dawson, with a daughter, aged 16, named Susan. Mr. Dawson is currently in London on a business trip. He's staying at Central Park Hotel, room 260. His last meeting ends at 6 PM today, and he's leaving in the morning." Killer took the knife in his hand and stabbed it into the table in front of him.

"So that means after six we can assume he'll do some wining and dining with coworkers, and then call his wife and hit the sack. I suggest," Killer held up a finger, "that we wait until he has gotten off the phone with his wife."

Kid grinned, "Of course. Otherwise poor Mrs. Dawson would be worried about dear Sammy."

Killer looked fondly at his younger friend. "With reason," he added maliciously, "But that's none of our business."

* * *

It was nine in the evening and Kid was twirling a cigarette between his painted fingers, eyeing the fancy hotel doors with a certain distaste. "He smokes, right?" he asked again to the mouthpiece.

The crackle of Killer sighing on the other line was prominent. "Yes, Kid, he'll be down for a smoke. It's a simple no-entry gig. I'm watching him now, and he's still on the phone."

Kid rolled his eyes, "What the fuck does he even got to say to her?"

"Women like to talk," Killer countered, "Especially when their husbands are away. Make sure they aren't cheating, and the like."

"Well I wouldn't know that," Kid snapped. "I've never wasted my breath on women."

Killer was fast to change the topic. "He's getting off the phone," the blonde announced, and then, a moment later, "And picking up his smokes. Your cue, Kid. I'll meet you there."

Kid smirked and clicked off his earpiece, shoving the device in his pocket. He crossed the busy streets without looking and lurked in a corner not too far from the hotel entrance, cigarette pressed between his dark lips. In short order, a thin man with unruly brown hair exited the building, bringing out a smoke and lighting it up.

"Hey, mate," Kid called out to the man, not moving from his spot on the wall.

Samuel Dawson looked up, "Evening," he replied.

"Got a light?" Kid threw back.

The man nodded and made for Kid, pulling his lighter from his pocket. Kid smiled and leaned down into the man's flame. In the same moment that the redhead pulled back to draw a drag and puff out some smoke, he drew his handgun from his dark red coat and pressed it into Mr. Dawson's blue button-down chest.

As always, it took the victim a few moments to comprehend his situation. Kid waited patiently, puffing away on his smoke, eyeing his car which was illegal parked just some few feet away.

"Is that a gun?" the man asked shakily. He shook his head. His cigarette fell from his lips and started burning useless on the pavement. "You can't shoot me here, on this busy street. You're bluffing."

Kid was used to this routine. He lowered his golden eyes to meet Mr. Dawson's light brown orbs and narrowed them, embodying the spirit of his intent. In daylight, Eustass Kid looked just a little rough and tumble around the edges, just a tad off-kilter with his red hair and thick accent and painted lips and nails. But in moments like these, the clear lighting illuminated something deeper born within him.

In short, Kid housed a demon. A demon without honor, without the constraints of societal ties or domestic training. Kid was a leviathan of an beast, full of fire, rage, and a set of teeth to match. Instinctually, every human cowered before his animalistic madness, and Mr. Dawson was no different.

"What do you want?" the victim asked, the logic of his resistance snuffed like the weak flame that it was.

"Just get in the car," Kid nodded to the two-door vehicle. "In the backseat, passenger side."

Mr. Dawson obeyed, and Kid joined him, turning on the ignition and driving out into traffic. The doors locked, the passenger seat pushed back, and Mr. Dawson had no feasible means of escape.

"Aren't you going to blindfold me?" he asked after a few minutes from the back of the car as they began to head downtown.

"No," Kid answered simply. "Now shut up."

City lights flashed by, and Kid knew that his subject was not paying attention to a single thing that drifted past his vision. He was plotting, thinking of escape routes, possible enemies, his wife and daughter, and probably praying to God. Kid knew what it felt like, and he had no sympathy. Everybody had to fight like rats to survive in this world, and if one became so disillusioned to forget this, then he deserved his fate.

They parked on an abandoned side street, outside of a run down textile mill. Kid cut the ignition and opened the door for Mr. Dawson, seeing him out. The man did not try to run for it. He did hold up his hands though and began to plead.

"If you want money, I have -"

"No," Kid said shortly. "And I told you to shut up already. I won't say it again."

Inside the back door of the textile mill, down to the lower layers. Killer was waiting with some rope and a chair nailed to the floor. His face was completely masked. Mr. Dawson shuddered and backed up at the sight of him - his wild mane of hair, his concealed face, his silent aura.

"Hello, Mr. Dawson," Killer greeted. "In the chair, if you would."

Mr. Dawson sat, trembling visibly by this point. Kid pulled out another cigarette and lit it. "Did you pick up the booze?" he pressed his friend.

"I did," Killer responded as he tied Mr. Dawson securely to the chair. "The rum is still a bit chilled. It's in the other room. I figured you'd want a glass while I worked."

"Thanks," Kid muttered, going to leave the couple alone. As he left, Mr. Dawson's eyes followed him greedily, begging for the redhead man to come back. He was familiar with that man. Kid's face wasn't masked, his hair wasn't overly long, his jeans weren't ripped up the sides with tassels. Killer watched his begging expression with amusement.

"I'm not the one you should be afraid of, Mr. Dawson," Killer told him. "If you are lucky, you'll never have to see my Captain again." The blonde pulled an old metal seat out from the far pile of scraps. The legs of the chair scraped and squealed across the ground. Eventually, he saddled it in front of his victim and sat on it backward, resting his arms on the arch.

"My name is Killer," he introduced himself.

"Am I being held hostage?" Mr. Dawson asked.

Killer shook his head, "No, Mr. Dawson. I just have a question." He pulled a cigarette from his pack and pressed it between the victim's lips, lighting it up for him. The man puffed on it like a baby sucking from a tit. Killer smirked under his mask at the man's complacency.

"I need to know where the clown's laboratory is."

Mr. Dawson dropped his cigarette for the second time that night. Patiently, Killer plucked it off of the man's chest, where it was burning a hole in his shirt, and took a drag off of it himself, while waiting for the victim to recover. Mr. Dawson had paled considerably at the mention of the name _the clown_. He couldn't play the poker face card now even if he had years of interrogation experience.

"I can't tell you that," Mr. Dawson managed to say. "Please, it's not a loyalty thing... it's just that he... him... I..." he turned his head desperately looking at the thin ray of moonlight coming into the room. "I'm not even involved in it, please. I just can't tell you though. My wife, my daughter..."

Killer interrupted him, "Notice that we haven't threatened them. We aren't like those people, Mr. Dawson," he lied, "We don't really hurt people. We want to stop them, that's all. Now tell us where, and we'll protect your family. We'll get you somewhere safe."

Visibly, the man's shoulders sagged. He sighed and eyed his trembling knees for a good moment. "You can protect them?" he asked hopefully, "Are you guys MI6 or something?"

"No," Killer answered, "But we will keep you safe. I swear it on my father's life."

Mr. Dawson was not a complete fool, though. He glanced around and then shoved forward his pant leg with his cell phone in it. "Then call my wife," he said, "And tell her what you're doing, where we'll be safe."

Killer pushed himself off of the chair and put out his smoke in the empty glass of rum he had helped himself too. He paced around Mr. Dawson's chair, until he was behind the man. Then he grabbed a handful of the man's hair and pressed a sharp dagger to his jugular.

"Call your wife?" he spat in Mr. Dawson's ear. "Very witty, I'm sure she'd alert the police rapidly enough, even though, honestly, I've taken down my fair share of the stick-toting fuzz." He nicked under the man's chin and hissed, "I guess we were playing each other for fools, weren't we?"

Mr. Dawson panicked. His breathing began rapid and inconsistent, his heart started to pound and more blood than necessary gushed from his small neck wound. "Please!" he begged, "Please just let me go! Find someone else to tell you!"

"No, no, no," Killer tutted, "You are the only one for us." He began to make his way to the door, "I'll motivate you quickly enough though." Killer cracked the door open and called out, "Captain! Your turn!"

Kid grunted from the other side. There was the clank of a heavy bottle being set on the floor. Killer turned to Mr. Dawson to explain.

"Captain's had a bit to drink now, so he's probably in the mood." Mr. Dawson's primal fear increased exponentially as Kid's booted footsteps scuffed across the floor. "You see, you should have told me, Mr. Dawson. I would have killed you quickly."

The man in the chair heaved as though he were about to vomit, which Killer didn't doubt. Then he screeched, "But you swore! You swore on your father's life!"

Killer pushed up his mask and stepped into the moonlight for one moment, fixing Mr. Dawson with a cold blue-eyed stare. "I killed my father, you dumb son of a bitch."

By this point, Kid was leaning in the doorframe. He pressed down on Killer's mask and eased it back over the man's face. "You've been drinking too much," he chided his friend. "You're being dramatic."

The blond shrugged, "Forgive me, Captain. He's a lot of fun."

Kid nodded, looking down his crooked nose at Mr. Dawson. "I bet he is."

* * *

It was only a half hour later and Kid was listening to the ringing tone on his mobile. He polished off his glass of rum and wiped his bloody fingers on his pants.

"Eustass," a cool voice answered the phone.

"Trafalgar," Kid responded. "I got your location."

There was a tinny chuckling from the other end, "I had faith in you. I'd prefer you tell me in person though. Did you write it down so you don't forget?"

Kid eyed the mutilated corpse at his feet. "You could say that."

"Wonderful." The satisfied smirk could nearly be heard from across the receiver.

"When do you wanna meet?" Kid pressed.

"Tonight," Law answered bluntly, "When you get home."

"Okay well where -"

"I'm in your flat already."

Kid scowled and kicked the carcass with the tip of his boots, "You better be fucking kidding me, you slimy little -"

"Ah, ah, ah!" Law interjected, "How could you call me such things, Eustass-ya? You see, I've seen your living situation, and I can hardly classify them as anything near the godly state of cleanliness."

Kid rolled his eyes, "What, are you upset with the state of my linens?"

"No...those are quite nice." Law made a deep purring noise in the back of his throat, "I'm actually lying on your bed right now, and don't worry, I've taken my shoes off. Hurry home, Eustass-ya, or I might fall asleep before you get here."

There was a snap, and suddenly the phone in Kid's hands was shattered to bits of wires and silicon chips. He growled and dropped the shards of the appliance into Killer's hands. "Clean up the mess," he ordered his subordinate. "I have to pummel the living shit out of a doctor."

Killer looked at the dead body and the broken phone, and then sighed. "This is the second blackberry this month, Kid. I'm switching you to flip phones."

But the redhead didn't respond. He was on his way back to his flat, driving with a cold patience down each city street, seething at each traffic light. It was not in his nature for him to be curious about the affairs of his clients, but he couldn't help but wonder why an organ-dealing surgeon wanted to know the location of a lab in the Siberian tundra.

Yet even more pressing was the question of why the doctor felt the need to press every one of the madman's buttons, currently lying on his bed like he belonged there, cocky smirk plastered right above his goatee. Kid's knuckles turned white on the steering wheel - the thought of the man made him sick.

_Whew. This story is NOT easy to write, holy hell. Well I hoped you liked the little bit of backstory. Please read and review_.

_in sha Allah - if god wills it, arabic_

_boro gomsho - get lost, persian_


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't own One Piece, but since Oda-sensei is sick, I will plot in his stead.**

The walls of the apartment rattled as Kid slammed the door open and then shut again, a handful of daggers that were stuck in the far wall shook loose, and an unwashed mug toppled from the kitchen counter to shatter on the floor. The redhead walked past all of this, though, storming into his bedroom. His maroon coat was just tossed over his shoulders, his fingernails still caked in dried blood, and his black eyeliner had smeared to make him look even more like a madman.

Hands behind his head, legs crossed over each other, Trafalgar Law lay sprawled out on Kid's plush, yellow-zebra print sheets. His eyelids were drooping, but his smile grew in appreciation at the sight of Kid in the doorframe.

"Eustass-ya," he chimed, spread his left arm out, as though welcoming the man into his own home. "It's such a delight to see that you could make it."

Kid wasted no time on words that he was too full of ire to formulate, anyway. He slapped Law upside the head to dislodge his white hat, and then grabbed a fistful of the man's unruly raven hair. Left eye twitching, he pulled Law up from the mattress and flung him against the far wall.

Law caught himself with his heels before he hit the wall, but stood there hissing and spitting like a cat at his pulled hair. A few strands fell loose from Kid's fingers, and Law could still feel the sharp sting where they had been pulled from his scalp. There were many types of abuse that Law was prepared to handle for the sake of experimentation, but hair-pulling was not one of them.

Kid had this infernal habit of tossing him around as though he were some cheap whore from a brothel. If there was one thing that Law hated more than taking orders, it was being treated like something _below _even that level: namely, a piece of meat. Nasty memories and ill thoughts swam to the forefront of the doctor's brain, and the roiling in his stomach nearly brought bile to his throat.

"Don't -" he hissed between gritted teeth, "-toss me around like that, Eustass-ya."

The redhead snatched up an empty glass from his nightstand and tossed it at Law. The doctor dodged, the glass shattered a foot next to him. "THEN DON'T BREAK INTO MY HOUSE!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs.

Biting his own tongue, Law tried to bring the situation back under control, which meant cutting out the red that was creeping into the corners of his vision. "I should have realized that you'd act like an animal staking his territory. I just deduced that this meeting place was more convenient than some corner cafe."

Kid huffed, his unfocused eyes slowly radiating back down to a point. His rage was wild, but fast. "Don't do it again, Trafalgar," he warned, "Or I will shoot on sight. I don't care how much you're paying me."

The doctor nodded, "I can see that about you," he said. He unzipped his coat and draped it over the bedpost. "You aren't in it for the money at all, are you?" There was a swift glance around the modest apartment. "I've heard word that you make a fair bit more than these accommodations would dictate, yet I find the only thing flashy about you is your decorating style..."

Running his fingers over an extensive set of gold jewelry, Law's nose and mouth twisted into an unpleasant sneer, as though he had caught whiff of an awful scent. "Reminds me of someone I used to know."

"Charming," Kid snorted, "And also, I don't give a shit what you think." He shrugged off his coat as well and put it over the opposing bedpost to the doctor's. Next, he peeled his t-shirt from his torso and flung it in the far laundry basket, swaggering shirtless back into the kitchenette to wash his hands.

Stiff patience in his step, Law followed after, kicking aside the shards of the mug fallen minutes before. He placed his hands on the counter and lofted himself up to sit on it, next to the sink. Kid glanced up, was about to open his mouth to complain, but then found no heart it in, so he went back to scrubbing under his nails with a vegetable brush.

"I hope you don't use that to wash your potatoes," the doctor commented.

"Only if I were cooking you dinner," Kid snapped back.

Law chuckled, genuine amusement leaking from his lips, and then reached into the sink, his darker hands slipping to meet Kid's dripping fingers. Kid froze as the doctor played softly up his palm until he cupped a few fingers in his palm. "Why do you paint your nails?"

"Somalia," Kid responded gruffly. "Used to work on ships and weaponry there. It kept my nails from cracking in that disgusting weather."

The doctor's wet fingers traveled up and traced the bottom of Kid's lips. "And the lipstick?"

Kid turned his head aside, dislodging the offending fingers. "Afghanistan. It was the cheapest thing to keep my lips from bleeding in the desert."

Finally, Law wiped away the bleeding eyeliner from under Kid's eyes, "And this?" he asked, the pad of his index finger smudged with black.

The redhead snickered. "You got me there, Trafalgar. I just like it because I like to look crazy." He pulled his hands from the spray and turned it off, grabbing a rag and wiping his hands dry. "So what about you?" he said, nodding at the man. "What's the story behind the ink?"

Law raised his hand backward and wriggled his fingers. "They call me the Surgeon of Death," he bragged, "It only seemed fitting."

Kid didn't know if that was the whole truth, but he shrugged it off. "And the other ones?" he pressed.

The doctor's eyes widened for a moment before narrowing swiftly. He pushed up his sleeves to his elbows and frowned. "You noticed?" he said. "Ah, well, they're just...nothing...just..." he glanced up and saw Kid's discerning stare, and snapped to compose himself. "It's just a pointless design to cover up some meaningless ones I got as a youth, that's all."

"Hmph," Kid tossed the rag at Law, who caught it and set it aside. "Sometimes I wonder if anything true ever comes through your mouth."

Law hopped off the counter, unfazed by the apparent insult. "Let's talk business," he said. "I've already hidden the last half of your pay somewhere in your flat, I just need you to the tell me the coordinates."

"65.3 North, 106.7 East."

The doctor was a bit taken aback with how easily Kid had surrendered the information. "Why, thank you, Eustass-ya. It appears you are far more reliable than your appearance would have me believe." He pointed toward the bedroom. "Underwear drawer."

Kid strolled in and ripped open his drawer, pushing aside some boxers until he saw the was of cash, and shook his head, groaning to himself. "I could say the same for you." He flipped through the money rapidly - it was all there. "Although you should be made aware..." he tossed the folded pounds aside and met Law's eyes.

"I may not have a degree, PhD or otherwise, from any institution. But that doesn't mean I'm stupid. I've been all over the world, Trafalgar. And I can put two and two together. A nuclear plant scientist? Coordinates to Siberian wasteland?" He gave a light, disdainful snort. "I don't know if you heard, but the Iron Curtain was lifted decades ago."

Law stuck his thin, cold fingers into the small pockets in the front of his jeans. "You told me that you didn't ask questions."

"I didn't," Kid retorted. "I just told you that I get it, and you would be stupid to think I'm some sort of mindless medium."

Like an insolent teen, Law scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I never accused you of anything of the sort, Eustass-ya. Don't get defensive." He took his hands from his pockets and rubbed his fingers together to get some life back into them. "Are we done here?"

Kid scowled, but nodded. "Yeah, get the hell out. Don't call me again unless you need something and you're willing to pay double. I'm gonna need that to put up with your bullshit."

* * *

Law did call Kid again, and he wasn't willing to pay double. Over the next few weeks, the doctor would appear like a spirit in various places: Kid's garage, Kid's apartment, the bar Kid was drinking in, one time knocking on the window of Kid's car when he was stopped at a traffic light. Every time there was a new victim, and while it was enough to soothe Kid's bloodlust, it did not cure his curiosity.

It was seven o'clock on a Saturday morning about a month later, a dreary drizzling mist covering the streets, and Law was fumbling with a picklock outside Kid's flat. He had worked the overnight shift at the hospital, and his scrubs still had a spurt of blood across the front from a cursing and stubborn gunshot victim. Finally, the lock clicked and he let himself in.

At the kitchen counter, looming over a cup of tea, was a frizzled-looking Killer. He did not startle at the sight of Law, but scowled, scratching his mass of untamed blonde hair.

"Stop letting yourself in here," he snarled. "It's rude."

Law shrugged made to toss his bag on the couch, but paused when he saw a young woman curled up under a scratchy woolen blanket. She had navy blue curly hair, and it was pulled back into a tangled bun, her face make up smeared, wearing some shift of a dress that clearly was her outfit at a club last night. There were blossoming bruises on her wrists, a nasty bite mark on her shoulder, and she had a black eye.

"Is this yours?" the doctor asked, stooping over the woman. "She looks like she's been mugged."

Killer shook his head. "Kid's," he answered. "She was sobbing all night, it kept me awake."

"Sobbing?" Law pressed.

Killer shook his head, indicating that he wasn't about to elaborate, and retreated back into his room. "Kid's passed out in his bed. Feel free to wake him up if you want your head bashed in."

Law sat down on the coffee table, crossing his legs and facing the women sleeping across from him, who was near skin and bones. His hand reached out and gently jostled her shoulder. "Young lady?" he called. "Miss, you ought to wake up."

The woman groaned and tossed under his touch, her eyelids eventually fluttering open. She cast her vision around for a few seconds and then her tension decreased, and she sighed heavily. "Oh," she murmured, "I remember." She looked up and narrowed her eyes at the doctor. "Who are you?"

"The name is Law, I don't live here, I'm just an acquaintance. What is your name? Would you like me to call you a cab?"

She shook her head, sitting up and pinching her thin strap of her dress and bringing it back up to her shoulder. "I'm Paula Doublefinger," she said. She threw aside the sheets and pulled out a small clasp that had fallen between the couch cushions. Snapping it open, she fumbled between a couple of crumpled pounds and some credit cards. "No, I'm fine, I can take the tube."

Law raised an eyebrow, "Would you like a jacket, then? It's raining."

Her face softened from its previous guarded, rather intimidating look. "That's too kind," she said, "Don't bother. I'm more than capable of taking care of myself."

"Forgive me for being forward," he interjected, "But you hardly look it."

Conscious of her appearance, Paula raised a finger to her blackened eye. "No, I knew what I signed up for." She cast a glance at Kid's closed door. "And I hate to admit it, but shit..." she glanced down at her thin hands clasped in her lap, "I enjoyed myself."

"Very well," Law said, pushing himself to his feet. "I don't suppose you'd like to -"

But he was interrupted, because Kid's door creaked open, and the man's huge shadow appeared in the frame. He was in nothing more than black boxer briefs and guinea tea, his usually standing-up hair was down and stands were hanging in his eyes. He groaned and rubbed the back of his neck, walking into the main lounge. It was silent as he passed by Law, acting like the doctor wasn't even there. He picked up his wallet from the kitchen counter and pulled out a twenty pound note.

Paula stared blank-faced as the man walked over and shoved the note in her open fingers. "Cab fare and breakfast," he grumbled. Then he grabbed her black and blue wrists and squeezed threateningly. "Don't spend it on smack," he said, before dropping her arm.

The woman nodded and stood, slipping her feet into her discarded heels by the couch. Kid threw open the coat closet and plucked out a plain black hoodie - he seemed to have quiet the collection of them - before tossing it to her. "Wear that," he ordered.

Law watched with pursed lips as she slipped the clothing over her thin shoulders and went to the door. Kid opened it for her, and then cupped the back of her head, bringing her in for a rather gentle kiss on the forehead, before seeing her out and shutting it behind her.

Law remained unacknowledged by Kid after the woman left, so he felt compelled to announce his presence, stating, "You ought to get checked for HIV. She's definitely a junkie."

"I know what she is," Kid said. He filled the tea pot and set it to a boil, pulling two mugs from the cabinet. "And I get checked at the clinic rather often, but I'm pretty sure she's a straight shooter."

"Why the black eye?" Law said. He took out the tea bags from the cabinet where he knew they were and pulled the milk from the fridge. Kid chuckled to himself.

"It's not what it looks like. She was wasted, and banged her own face into my headboard."

"And you didn't wonder why she was sobbing all night?"

Kid rolled his eyes and snapped off the burner on the stove as the kettle began to whistle. Law chose to intercede and finish fixing the tea himself, as Kid was clearly displeased.

"Look, I just wanted a rough fuck with a stupid broad. It isn't my fault if around 3 AM she decides she wants to cry about how she's a fucking junkie working at a strip joint. I moved her to the couch, tucked her in, and went back to bed."

The doctor turned around and passed the man his cup of tea. Kid took a sip and groaned, cracking open the fridge. He took out a liter of dark rum and filled the mug to the top with that, and then took a deep chug from the cooled down beverage. Law sipped his earl grey from between chapped lips.

"Are you sure she wasn't crying because you're so damned awful in the sack, Eustass-ya?" he teased with a smirk twitching on the corners of his lips.

Kid pushed Law's shoulder roughly, and some tea sloshed from the doctor's cup and splattered on his shirt. "Another stain!" Law hissed, glancing down on it. He snatched up some napkins and dabbed it up. "Blood, tea... got any red wine you'd like to throw at me to make it an impossible trinity, you bloody brute?"

"All the red wine in the house belongs to Killer," Kid answered, as though it were a serious statement. He gulped down another half of his cup and then wiped the liquid from his lips with the back of his forearm. Glancing up, he leaned back on the counter to give a long study of the man before him.

The doctor was still involved in a futile effort to scrub the stain from his shirt. The bags under his dark eyes were even more pronounced now then the day Kid has met him, and the man was even thinner, his jutting collarbone a tell-tale sign. A lopsided grin on his face, Kid reached out his painted fingers and grabbed Law's furiously working hand.

"Stop," he ordered.

"Don't tell me what to do," Law snapped back.

"Come on," Kid said, "I'll lend you a shirt. Let's go get breakfast. I'm starving."

Law stopped and set the napkin aside. "Breakfast?" he asked, as though the word were foreign. "Is that a date?"

Kid scowled, "No, you feckless faggot, I just want taters and eggs and there's nothing in the bloody house. You're here, so you're coming with me."

The mechanic did not wait for an answer, but ambled off to his room to go change. Law followed after, and in the doorway, a black t-shirt hit him in the face. Frowning, the doctor peeled the shirt off his face and stripped his scrubs off his chest.

Law's eyes, obscured by pulling the shirt from his head, did not catch the look on Kid's face, although he did hear a short, fast intake of breath - a gasp. Attributing it to other manners, it went overlooked, and very shortly the topless doctor was pulling the t-shirt on, which hung over his shoulders unflatteringly.

"You've got quite a bit of muscle on you for a swank doctor," Kid commented, buttoning his jeans over his hips.

The doctor tugged on the hem of the plain black tee, "Is that a cruel joke, Eustass-ya?" he inquired.

"Nope," Kid answered honestly. He placed a hand on the small of Law's back and began to push him to the door. Law grimaced at the controlling touch. "You're rakish, sure, but you've got some meat on you." Kid shrugged, casting Law his cocky smile. "It's decent...for a twig."

The doctor slammed his bony elbow into Kid's side, and Kid cursed and kicked the man in the back of the knee. They didn't stop cursing at each other until they arrived at the place down the street, pushing open the door to the soft jangle of a bell.

Seating himself with blatant familiarity to the place, Kid didn't even bother to look at the menu that was handed to him. His brooding eyes danced over every other patron in the place, eventually settling to look out the rainy window. Only in his peripheral could the mechanic see the doctor, who was taking his time as he flipped through the menu, as though reading every item thoroughly.

"What'll it be today?" the waitress pried, dragging the men from their companionable silence. Law folded his menu before him and flashed a soft smile up at her.

"I'd like to have an order of your sausage, two poached eggs - please hold the toast, I'll have no need of it."

Rolling her eyes, the waitress turned to Kid and then tucked her writing pad into her pocket. "Hash, eggs, and bacon for you, Red?" she asked quickly. Receiving a nod from Kid, she ambled off to the kitchen.

"Red?" Law teased, an eyebrow raised.

Kid ruffled his crimson locks, which for once were not held back by goggles or a bandana. "Are you colorblind or just stupid?"

Law chuckled and shook his head, "You're the one that acts like a rabid dog, Eustass-ya. Tell me, can you pick out the red numbers from the green? Or do you not know how to read?"

Two steaming plates made their way to the table, and Kid stabbed his fork into his meal viciously as the doctor was still laying his napkin over his lap. Gritting his teeth, Kid mumbled through a mouthful of food, "I know what I need to know to get by."

A piece of finely chopped sausage was on the way to Law's mouth when he paused and lowered it. "Are you implying...?" He trailed off, studying his latest interest under hooded eyelids. The man looked uncomfortable at the mention of literacy, but seemed to be able to manage text just fine. Then again, there was a wild amount of Kid's past that Law had been unable to uncover. The man's files were nearly all erased. In essence, the redhead should not even exist.

"Did you ever go to school?"

Kid ripped the bacon in half between his fanged teeth, glaring down at Law. "I don't see how that fucking matters."

Law's eyes widened. "I'll take that as a 'no', then. So how did you avoid the truancy officers? I'm sure there's lots of elementary students on the street dying to know your trick."

As the doctor spoke, the mechanic before him had gobbled his way through half of his meal, and now he sat back and gulped down a good third a glass of water. Taking respite, he leaned back and gave Law a look akin to a sulking teenager.

"Never had parents, moved around a lot," he answered brusquely. "Busted out of every home they tried to land me in." He smirked and picked up his fork, waving it at the doctor teasingly. "I bet you tried to research me. Can't find nothing, can you?"

Law surrendered and shook his head. "Nothing besides what I know - that you own the garage, and it's under your name. No medical history, no birth certificate, no bank account, and no driver's license. I'll admit I'm impressed."

Kid shrugged, "It wasn't my doing, but I have to admit that I enjoy the freedom it gives me."

The doctor was about to pry some more, until Kid's fork poked at the eggs on his plate. "Eat," the man ordered. "Put some meat on your bones. It makes me hungry just looking at you."

Obediently, Law took a bite. "I've just never been one to have much of an appetite," he admitted. "I hope the cooks don't take it personally." With reluctance, he pushed around some of the food on his plate and took another small nibble.

Frowning, Kid leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. "Well, we aren't leaving until you clear your plate."

The grip tightened on Law's fork as he tried to steady his hand, a twitch of annoyance wracking his body. "What, are you my keeper now?"

The mechanic lunged across the table and pried the utensil from Law's fingers, stabbing a chuck of sausage and bringing it up to the man's lips. Law responded with a coarse expression, his mouth shut in a thin line as disdain settled into his features.

But Kid was unfazed. He prodded at Law and his hand did not waver from his spot. "I'll be damned," he growled, "If I sit here and watch you starve before me. You'll eat at least one good meal any day that you see me, mark my words."

Law snatched the utensil back, which Kid allowed. "Stop being so melodramatic," he snapped, "And I don't take orders."

Kid chuckled as the doctor began to eat his food despite what he said. "It wasn't an order," he answered, "It was a threat. Live well, or I'll beat the ever-loving shit out of you. I can't stand people who don't appreciate the things they have."

Pausing, Law couldn't help but consider the enigma he'd been visiting the past couple of months. A man of fast and wild rage, he seemed to have every animalistic instinct installed and downloaded to its fullest components. But from what little he knew of Eustass Kid's past, it was not the only facet to his character. There was more there, underneath the rough and rather intimidating exterior, a series of walls and rules erected over time to aid the man's survival. And wasn't it those who went without that insisted one must cherish everything they have?

Respecting his wishes, the doctor finished the meal and allowed Kid to fund the bill. The woman was tipped generously, and when Law raised another eyebrow, the mechanic murmured, "I take care of my own." The finality in the statement convinced Law to leave it at that.

Twenty minutes later, standing the drizzle of the street, Kid passed his smoke to Law, who took a drag and passed it back to the mechanic. "So what's the job you have for me this time, Prince Twig?"

Law took the smoke back and flicked some ash up into Kid's face, which caused the man to stumble backward and curse profusely. "Don't call me that, you mangy street dog." He finished the cigarette and killed it under the heel of his boot.

"I do have a job for you, and it's a little different than what I've asked from you before," the doctor continued. He cast his eyes about the dismal street, and then leaned close to the mechanic's body, so near he could feel the heat from his skin. "I'm being followed, Eustass-ya, by a woman in black."

Kid's crooked smile started in the right corner of his mouth and spread across his lips. "When is her path ending?"

"Tonight," Law answered. "With me and you, nobody else. Meet me at the club Madame Shakky's on Charing Cross Road at nine tonight, alone, if these conditions are acceptable."

Considering it swiftly, the redhead nodded, a thirsty shine already lingering in the glaze over his eyes. "Call it a date," he answered.

Law smirked, "Call it whatever you want, Red."

_I don't know why this chapter took me forever. The beginning I had planned for a while, but I kept getting confused over where I wanted the plot to progress from there. Try to guess who the woman in black is!_


	5. Chapter 5

**I do not own One Piece. Also, warnings for this chapter related to implied sexual assault/rape. Actually, just basically every warning you can ever think of throughout this entire fiction. Ever. **

"Che," Kid scoffed as he looked up and down the queue to get into the club. Charing Cross Road to meet Trafalgar Law; he ought to have known it'd be a swank place. He pulled his black leather jacket up on his shoulders and popped the collar, expertly keeping his head down as he began to head around the block and search for back or side exits, somewhere where he could avoid crowd of people and long waits. He was no good at patience.

Rather suddenly, a bony elbow jammed into his chest and sent his shoulder rolling backward. Cursing, Kid turned to slam the perpetrator's face into the nearest brick wall, but his hand froze over the very bored expression of the Surgeon of Death.

"Bailing on me, Eustass-ya?" he asked, his eyebrow raised. Instead of scrubs, Law was wearing sharp pinstripe pants and a thin, black blazer. The collar of his white t-shirt was low cut, and Kid could see the man's violently jutting collarbone. Lastly, a gray fedora sat perched slightly crooked on the doctor's mass of black hair.

"What is this, Hermes?" Kid snapped, flicking the brim of the hat upward. Law scowled and lowered it back over his eyes.

"No, don't be ridiculous, it's Armani." Law grabbed Kid's jacket and rolled it between the pads of his fingers. "And did you make this from the skin of your victims?"

"Why, do you want to become my new fall fashion?" Kid responded, grabbing a fistful of Law's blazer. Both men fell apart from each other in time, the doctor rolling his eyes at the mechanic as he straightened his clothing and smoothed out the wrinkles.

"Come on, let's go. Once the target follows me in here, she'll be easy to corner." Law wrapped his long and cold fingers around Kid's wrist and dragged him back toward the front of the building.

"No way," Kid protested, ripping his hand out of the doctor's grip. "Did you see that line? I'm just gonna bust in the back, I'll meet you inside."

Law rolled his eyes again, and tugged Kid's sleeve. "Just follow me, you barbaric dolt. There are other ways to cut a queue without brute force."

Kid followed, shoulders slumped, casting suspicious eyes at every woman that darted back and forth across his way, most in sheaths rather than dresses, clacking around in their heels. Which one was Law's target? Law walked up to the front of the line, Kid in tow, and tapped the bouncer on the shoulder.

The man turned, his face set in a permanent scowl. He easily towered over both Kid and Law, and his wild black hair shadowed his impatient beady black eyes. "What?" he snapped, and then he looked down at the doctor; immediately, the scowl subsided, his eyes softened, and he cocked an ear to listen.

"Jean!" Law chimed, and his voice dripped with a terrible sticky sweetness that Kid had never heard from his lips. It sounded positively sexual. "Why, I haven't seen you in ages. How have you been since you ditched that awful joint I saw you in last?"

The colossal man nodded at Law's words, ignoring the frustrated line of patrons in front of him. "Not too shabby, mate," he replied. "I'm real glad I quit, thanks for that night." He stepped aside and placed a think hand on Law's sharp shoulder, ushering him inside. Then those thick fingers moved and spread out in front of Kid's chest when he tried to follow the doctor.

"No," Law reprimanded the bouncer with a bit more bite in his voice. "He's with me, Jean. Let him pass."

"Naturally," Jean said, removing the obstruction from Kid's path. The mechanic glowered up at him, but it seemed not to bother the man in the slightest, as he had already moved on to checking IDs and collecting cash.

As they walked into the club, the lights darkened and the crowds got heavy. Three bars, Kid observed upon entrance, with one at each level, and then staggered private balconies in between those, with an open ceiling all the way up to the blinding, flashing displays on the ceiling. Regardless, it was much cleaner than the places that Kid frequented with his friends. There wasn't a hint of animosity anywhere, and Kid couldn't even catch a whiff of someone smoking reefer.

He leaned in over Law's shoulder and spoke into the man's ear, "You sounded like a simpering lady of the court back there."

"Then what are you?" Law shot back, "A stable boy?"

Kid frowned, but placed his hand on Law's right hip, steering him toward the stairs to the bar on the second floor. "Let's grab a drink there," he directed, "It'll be the best place to scope the lower level."

Law nodded and did not brush off Kid's hand as he usually might. He let the red head tower over him as he guided him through the crowd, up the stairs, and pushed his way to the front of the bar with his intimidating presence. Flashing a ten pound note, he rapidly acquired two beers, and passed one to the doctor.

After taking a deep swig from the frothy liquid, Kid leaned down to Law's ear and murmured, "A description of what she looks like would really fucking help at this point."

Law titled his head back as he took a deep drink from his beer, and a bit leaked down the side of his mouth, dribbling off his cheek. Kid reached up and wiped it with the back of his hand, "And honestly, what are you, a child?"

Scowling, the doctor licked the excess beer off his lips. "I suggest you stop acting like a doting mother then. Trying to get me to eat proper, cleaning off my face. You're the ugliest damn housewife I've ever encountered."

Kid scoffed - he had been unseated again by Law's wit. He shoved his hands in his front jean pockets and leaned against the back of the bar, watching his cohort as the man scanned the crowds below them. It had been many months since he had met the doctor, but he had rarely seen him in anything other than his hospital clothing. While the white coat suited his rakish figure, the drab scrubs hung off his shoulders in a way that made him look starkly thin and washed out.

Now, Law looked lean and sleek, a panther clad in sharp-toed boots with the predatory eyes to match. Kid couldn't help but think of the secret hardness beneath that slim jacket, the secret darkness that the doctor barely masked from the world.

Out of his periphery, Law must have caught him looking, for he glanced up and flashed Kid a sick smirk from the corner of his mouth, and then nodded his head back down at the crowds below.

Kid fought the desire to grin like a bloodthirsty animal down at the doctor; there was something about his cocky attitude that enticed Kid to crush it, to break his arrogant spirit over his knee. Instead, he followed the gaze as indicated and watched the lower right corner of the dance floor.

"She's the one in the little black and white dress, black hair in curls. She's fiddling with something in her bra right now - likely it's a pack of smokes."

According to Law's directions, Kid eyes quickly found the target. She was the perfect pin-up type of woman, with 1940's style red lips just begging for a cigarette to be perched between them. "What a doll," Kid commented.

"Baby," Law corrected him. "Baby 5, she's known as. And she's got knives strapped to her thighs, so don't go hiking up her skirt."

Kid scoffed, "Whatever, so what's the plan?"

The doctor finished off his beer and placed the empty bottle on the bar, motioning the tender for another round. When he came, he handed the bottle to Kid. "Give her a drink, and lure her out the side exit by the women's bathroom."

The redhead rolled his eyes, "With this?" he said, holding up the bottle. "This is light beer. She looks like the martini type of bird." His eyes scanned the lower floors for the bathroom and located the protruding hall that led down toward them. "And how do you know there's an exit back there?"

"It's a one-way door. Most respectable clubs have exits by the women's bathroom. How else do you think the ladies disappear after your atrocious manners frighten them away?"

Kid shoved the light beer in Law's face. "You're clearly the one not getting laid if you are trying to feed bitches this shitty beer."

"Tch," Law brushed aside Kid's hand, "It doesn't matter. All you need to do is tell her that you need her."

"I...need her?" Kid repeated, dumbfounded.

Law sighed, as though he were explaining something to a dimwitted child. "Baby 5 is a trained assassin, and undercover extraordinaire, a wonderful asset to any organization. But she has one key weakness," he stressed, holding up a finger. "If a man says that he needs her, she'll do anything he requests."

A rude and unsettling grin stretched the right corner of Kid's mouth. "And how do you know that, you sly wanker?"

"Please," Law wrinkled his nose in disgust, "She's not my type."

"Fine." Kid rolled his shoulders back and kicked off the back of the bar to stand up. "I'll meet you with the broad outside in five minutes, then?"

Law nodded, and with a few swift steps he quickly receded into the crowd, his thin form and dark clothing helping him blend. Within seconds, Kid lost sight of him. He shrugged and made his way down the stairs, until he found the shadow of the target, who was looking rather distracted, glancing around the crowds, looking for someone - and Kid knew exactly who.

He bent down and rested his forearm over her shoulder, and although most women would have jumped back in surprise, she merely scowled upward at him, displeased with the intrusion. Up close, Kid found her far less attractive. There was something about her merciless eyes and plumped lips that made her look far more petty and selfish than Kid was likely to condone even for a one-night companion. Her figure was shapely, but her stance was rigid, and reflected how above the situation she perceived herself to be.

"Hey, doll," he spoke directly into her ear, causing the black curls wrapped around it to flutter, "I bought this drink for you."

Baby 5 reached out and snatched the bottle from Kid's fingers. "Thanks," she spat, "But I'm sort of busy looking for someone, so if you would -"

"The thing is," Kid continued, completely ignoring her, "that from the moment you walked in, I knew nothing in this bar would quench my thirst." He reached up and pressed a nail covered in black lacquer to her red lips, "I'm jonesing for a different taste tonight, darling, if you know what I mean."

The woman's features continued to darken, her scowl erasing the last of her beauty as she stepped away from him like he was infested with some sort of disease. It wasn't a look that Kid was unaccustomed to. "How vulgar," she snipped, "I'm not the fast and loose type, so no thank you."

But Kid's hand wasn't about to let her go. He gripped on to her wrist so roughy that she winced, and then he twisted it ever so slightly to put strain on the joint. "I won't let you go," he insisted. "The fact is that tonight, I _need_ you."

The result was instantaneous. Her pupils grew to the size of buttons and her entire stature went lax. As though melted away, her wrinkles of stress and disgust disappeared, and she glanced up at him with watering eyes. "You need me?" she echoed. Instead of stepping away, she fell forward into his chest, her breasts pressed up against the harsh buckles of his leather jacket.

"I do," Kid repeated, a snicker playing on his lips. Jesus, this bitch was fun - it was like playing with putty. He probably could've risked to be ruder and still nabbed her.

"I didn't know I was needed," she cooed. She slipped a leg between his, kneading her thigh into his groin. The motion, which was meant to arouse, simply served to remind Kid that this woman was indeed an assassin. She may not have realized, but he could feel the bulge of weaponry strapped an inch belong her panty-line.

Placing a hand on her hip, Kid twisted her around toward the hall with the washrooms. "There's an exit by the loo," he told her, "Let's slip out and head back to my place."

"Oh!" Baby 5 stopped short. "But I have something I need to do here still!"

Kid scowled, and his fingers dug into her hipbone as he held on to her. He snaked down to press a gentle nip and then kiss below her ear on the white flesh of her neck. Although she had been disgusted with him only moments ago, she leaned into the touch, and a sweet moan fell from her lips. Pleased, Kid smiled up against her skin. "Baby," he spoke, "I need you now, though. I can't last any longer."

The woman made a girlish keening noise, and then gave in. "Okay," she surrendered, "Lead the way."

Lead the way he did, rapidly guiding her in and out of the dancing crowd and then the herd of chattering women on line for the loo, until he found a dark door that looked more like a supply closet than anything. Before they left, Kid slammed the woman up it and pinned both her wrists at either side of her head. He roughly pried her lips open with his own, and she rapidly conceded, her tongue dancing out in the adroit manner of a street whore.

"Figured I'd take what I can while I can," Kid murmured as he pulled back, "But my intuition was right - you taste like a disgusting stuck-up slut."

"Huh?" Baby 5 asked in more surprise than anything, but Kid didn't respond verbally. He shoved her out the door and followed after, slamming it shut behind him.

The pounding of the club music was still echoing in Kid's ears, so at first the silence seemed unnatural and put him at unease. But before he could wonder if Law had ditched him with that crazy broad, the woman next to him shrieked like a cat with its tail stepped on.

Her black skirt tugged up in a second, pistol freed the next, she was pulling the safety back and aiming straight at the chest of Trafalgar Law. Directly across the alleyway from the entrance, he stood leaning against the wall, long and lean legs crossed one over the other, his fedora shadowing his eyes.

"You!" Baby 5 screeched, but Law did not trouble himself to respond, merely smiling from the shadows. For as she moved, the man behind her moved faster, and he grabbed her wrist between the fingers of his right hand and snapped the joint in a clean and swift break. The gun clattered to the pavement before she could fire off a shot.

"Thank you," Law said.

"Yeah, yeah," Kid waved him aside, "Although you didn't fucking warn me that this broad tasted so nasty. I thought I could cop a feel but it turns out I don't even wanna - whoa!"

The mechanic had to duck as a the sharp blade of a dagger nearly took his nose off his face. He slapped the knife from her hand and raised his foot, kicking her to the floor and holding her there with steel-tipped boots digging right at the base of her sternum.

"Fuck...off..." she choked out in struggling breaths. "You lied to me!"

Kid leaned on his knee, looking down at her glassy eyes that were beginning to sting with tears. "Damn, bitch, well don't make it so easy. Besides, you're exactly the type of prissy little shits that I hate. I can't wait to off you after the doctor's done with you."

Law settled his hand on Kid's shoulder. "There will be no such thing. We cannot kill Baby 5."

The mechanic took his foot off her chest and then picked her up by her hair, slamming her bodily up against the wall. He roughly ran his hands up her thighs and began to rip down everything she had stashed up there. "Fuck...what is she, an armory?" he asked, as he pulled the final item, a set of brass knuckles, from her lacy underwear. He dropped her down to the ground, where she remained floored for a bit, gasping for air.

"And why can't we kill her?" he asked his cohort.

"I thought you didn't ask questions," Law warned, a steely glaze in his eyes. Kid gritted his teeth and conceded. He stepped aside and allowed Law to take the front in the situation.

The doctor kicked Baby 5's right hand off of her lap, and then slammed the small heel of his cap toed shoes into her broken wrist. At the sound of distinct cracking, she threw her head back and sucked in air through her teeth in order to stifle the scream. Kid observed this all with a certain sense of delight. Although he had seen the doctor be cold and callous; he had seen the man kill before and even rip oozing organs from a broken ribcage. But he had never seen such a determined look in the man's eyes. For the first time in a while, Law was in the moment, focused fully on the undeniable abhorrence he nurtured for this woman.

"Baby 5," he crooned, "What have you been telling Joker?"

The woman hacked back in her throat and then tried to spit up at Law's face, although she missed miserably. Still getting the message, Law turned his foot until the tip of his shoes pressed into the palm of her hand, grinding down on her knuckles.

"Shit, shit shit," she slammed her eyes shut and turned her head to the side. "He'll fucking kill you for this, you know."

"No he won't," Law said with perfect confidence. "You'll be returned alive. He won't be displeased. Even if you didn't, I doubt you would be incentive enough for him to leave his villa."

Law reached down and dipped his fingers into her bra, fishing out the pack of cigarettes shoved in there. He tossed them to Kid. "Here," he said, "Consider it a bonus."

Kid shrugged and pulled one out, lighting it up. In the meantime, the doctor turned his attention back to the woman. "Besides, I want you to arrive back to him and deliver the message that your survival is a gesture of goodwill." He rummaged around her in bra again, completely shameless, until he found her mobile. "Let him know that I'm not trying to bother him, so he needs to stop sending sniveling little bitches to follow me before I start capping them the moment I see them."

Baby 5 stiffened her lower lip at the latest comment and glared up at him. "How can you act like this? He _made_ you."

These words seemed to rub the doctor the wrong way. "Don't speak of something you know nothing about, you ignorant twat." He lifted his foot off her wrist and kicked upward, slamming in her jaw and banging her head up against the brick wall she was resting against.

With that last kick, Law turned away and spoke to Kid. "We won't get anything out of her, she's too loyalist. But she'll pass on the message." He handed the mechanic her cell phone. "Regardless, I don't want her doing anything tonight."

Kid looked down at him, "So what do you want me to do about that?"

Law plucked the cigarette from Kid's mouth, which was stained round the filter with purple and red lipstick. He leaned up against the dumpster behind Kid and began to smoke, not looking back at the woman that accompanied them. "Make her look like she was sexually assaulted," he ordered, "and then call 999 from her phone."

"And what'll that do?" Kid pressed.

"Right now, she could just run off with these wounds. But if she's picked up by the fuzz, she'll be stuck all night in the hospital. Although I don't suppose you'd know, seeing as you never go to those places, Mister..." Law raised an eyebrow, a teasing gleam in his eyes, "Cromwell, was it?"

Kid barked out a laugh. "Fine, fine," he said. He straddled over the woman and leaned down to look into her make-up smeared face, "You're one unlucky little cunt, aren't ya?" he chuckled. He gripped the neckline of her dress and ripped downward, meeting her eyes as she glared at him, her pupils the dark steel of bullets.

The mechanic went about it meticulously, tearing off her panties, leaving planned bruises on her thighs. He let her hair down, ripping out a few stray strands. He smeared her lipstick and pressed a thumb into her jaw until it blossomed red. Finally, Kid took off her high heeled shoes and snapped off both heels, tossing them in opposite directions.

"Never seen that before," Law commented, as he was collecting all of her weaponry that lay scattered on the pavement.

"So she can't run away, although..." Kid raised his foot and slammed it down on her ankle, breaking that as well. "That'll do the trick much better."

"Good idea," Law said, brushing off his knees as he stood. Kid looked down at the woman, who had stopped cursing at him some time ago and simply sat there looking off into the distance.

"What's wrong?" the mechanic asked her. Law tossed him a glance of utter exasperation - of course everything was wrong with the woman, and why should he care otherwise? But Kid didn't meet his gaze, instead hunkering down in front of her.

She looked up slowly, and then met Kid's wine-colored eyes. "What if I really do get raped while I'm lying here?"

Kid's frown grew deeper. "We'll call the police. They'll be right here."

"It'll take them time," Baby 5 countered.

Balancing the phone in his right hand, Kid dialed the emergency number and held it up to the woman's lips. "Please!" Baby 5 cried into the device obediently. "I'm outside Shakky's off of Charing Cross...these two men just - !"

"I'll dispatch them to your location, miss, now if you'd please just answer -"

Kid crushed the phone between his fingers, and dropped the broken device between his feet. "I'll watch the alleyway," he said, "until the cops show. But it's not because I don't fucking hate you, because I do. It's because I don't need this turning into a full blown goddamn investigation."

The woman nodded and turned her head to the side again, catching the glance of the doctor in her peripheral. "Fuck you, Law," she murmured. "You of all people..."

"You'll be fine," Law replied stiffly. He nudged Kid with his shoulder and the two men disappeared into the main road. They blended in easily with the night prowlers, and then crossed the road, until Kid nabbed the doctor aside where they had an easy view of the alley.

"We wait," Kid ordered.

Law removed his fedora from his head and looked up at the mechanic, his eyes unsure, squinting, as though trying to make out something he couldn't quite see. "You were serious...?" he asked. "About watching the alleyway?"

Kid shrugged, "Yeah, why not? It doesn't hurt us any to wait a few."

"...And ensure the safety of our enemy?" Law smiled, but his lips were pursed, as though he was unsure whether to be pleased or not. "I really never knew you were so soft."

A rumbling sigh escaped from Kid's throat. "You want her to pass on the message, don't you? Look, I know you're a smart bloke, probably a hell of a lot more learned than I am in biology and calculus and shit, but there's one thing I know -" he pointed down the alleyway. "The street."

Kid dug into his pants and pulled out a fresh smoke, lighting it up and taking a long drag before breathing out toward the sky. "Pretending to fuck her? That's fine, that makes sense. But if we let her actually get raped, there's no forgiveness for us." Kid glanced at Law. "Well, maybe you - I don't know who you are or who Joker is. But when a woman gets raped - and she's not the type to keep her mouth shut - then blood gets spilt. That's just the way of things."

Law nodded, "It makes sense. I've heard that rapists in prisons are often the most persecuted by their fellow inmates." He nodded to Kid as the police officers appeared on the street and raced into the alley in which they left Baby 5. Both of them turned in and walked off to the nearest tube track, hoping on the next train downtown.

As they were seated next to each other on the rattling underground tracks, Law crossed his legs one over the other and leaned back, crossing his arms as well. "Eustass-ya?"

"Yeah?" Kid grunted.

"In the street...what about men who get raped?"

Kid's brow crinkled at the thought. "They don't talk about it," he said simply. "I mean, would you?"

Law shook his head. "No, I don't think I would."

**Please read and review! I'm finally getting closer to where I wanted in the plot so..yay! **


	6. Chapter 6

**Wow, that took forever. Let me tell you guys why - I spent way too long planning out this fiction, and I made up like 5,000 subplots...and it's driving me crazy because I just want to write smut, damn it! So, I'm sorry. I may crack soon and have to incorporate some, because I just can't live without writing some sexy action, and I'm sure you guys wouldn't mind reading it. (even if it is more than a bit out of place)**

**I do not own One Piece, or Law wouldn't have that tattoo, because I definitely did NOT plan on that for this fiction. So, um, it's not included guys, sorry. I already wrote a description of Law topless, and I don't feel like adding little edits. Maybe later.**

Law's finger hovered over Kid's name on his phone, before he dropped the device back into his pocket, shaking his head. It had been only a few days since he last contacted the man, and although he wanted to speak with him again, he had no excuses - his mission had made no headway, and he was running out of random men to shepherd to their deaths just so the doctor had an excuse to meet the mechanic again.

He turned back to his work, juggling a couple of blood samples in his fingers, before straightening the slide he was looking at and focusing the microscope. As he reviewed the sample, his thoughts were on the events from the night at the club. It was unlike him to have operated without a clear rationale; there was no reason why he left Baby 5 alive, and there was no reason why he tortured her when he knew that information would not be forthcoming.

_To send a message_.

Yes, that's what he told himself. He wanted to send a message to the Joker. On the surface, to tell the King Pin that he wasn't a man to be messed with, and deeper down, to impress upon Doflamingo that Law had no forgotten what he had done, and certainly not forgave him.

But that was what worried Law the most. The signs were all there, the telltale burden of a man bent on revenge. He may delude himself on the surface and say that he was only pursuing his own interests, and had accidentally stumbled across the path of his former master. Yet the ferocity with which he pursued that path once he knew that the Joker laid somewhere upon it... it was too unnatural, too telling of the pain that Law still bore. It was like a wound that the doctor had allowed to fester, and instead of amputating, he simply isolated it. It did not affect the rest of his life, he assured himself, and as long as it didn't infect any other part of him, then he would allow it to live.

Groaning in the depths of his throat, the doctor rubbed his temples and tried desperately to shake off both his headache and the ghosts of unwelcome thoughts. He squinted through the lens until he got a clear view of what he was looking at; as excepted, the white blood cells were classically deformed. "Leukemia," he sighed. "Thank god, I get to transfer this bastard to oncology."

Turning to clean up the mess he'd made of the lab, Law stopped still under the scrutinizing eye of an unexpected guest, who was lingering in the open arch of the doorway. Aware there was no escape, Law nodded to his colleague, indicating that the interruption was permitted.

"Doctor Trafalgar," the young man said rather seriously, in spite of his frazzled, mussed hair and his brown, doe eyes. "You were on call last night."

"I am well aware of that," Law answered, not looking up from the stubborn label that was caught on his finger. He bit it off with the side of his mouth and slapped it back on the sample.

"And so why, after we called you seventeen times, did you fail to arrive?" the young doctor pressed, "Or even pick up the phone?"

Law sighed heavily and rubbed his brow, "Doctor Chopper, I have this awful headache, would you please have some sympathy?"

This didn't seem to please Doctor Chopper one bit. He pulled out his prescription pad from his pocket and scrawled across it in blue pen. "Ibuprofen!" he snarled, shoving the crumpled paper in Law's hands. The surgeon took the prescription between two fingers and rolled his eyes, dropping the wadded paper in his pocket.

"Very well, I'll hear you out," he conceded.

"Doctor," Chopper continued again, "I've always really respected you ever since I started interning here." He bashfully looked away as he began to nervously mutilate the prescription pad he still had in his hands. Law smirked at the blush forming on the young doctor's cheeks.

"Nonsense," Law admonished. "You're already one of the most respected pathologists in Europe. And what am I? Just a thoracic surgeon."

The change was instantaneous. The surgeon had learned long ago how to distract and persuade the prodigy; at first, Law had greeted him with coldness and a slight edge of competition. But once Chopper proved to be no threat to Law or his department, he saw fit to avoid the boy's scolding whenever possible, and to use him otherwise.

Thus, with a simple compliment, Doctor Chopper's face turned so red that most doctors would have already been paging the local station. Law ignored the blush, the swooning, and the sickly sweet smile. "Don't be ridiculous, you fucking asshole!" Chopper cursed, "You think flattery will get you off the hook? Bastard!"

Once the storm had passed, Law plucked the pad from between Chopper's fingers and placed it aside on the counter, before more paper shavings littered the lab's floor. "Thank you so much for covering for me last night, Doctor Chopper. I'm sure you're more than exhausted."

Chopper's wide eyes narrowed as much as they could. "Don't try to distract me, Trafalgar," he scolded, "I might let it slide this time, but next time I'll report you!" He swayed unsteadily on his feet. "There's no way I can keep working these fifteen hour shifts when you don't show."

Law scoffed as quietly as he could, placing the samples back into storage. "Let's discuss this as we walk back to your office then, hm?" He held up a file folder. "I have to drop this off at oncology anyway, which is right next to your department, correct?"

Chopper nodded and yawned, rubbing the back of his head and messing up his hair even further. "Okay, okay..."

Law smirked and placed his spidery fingers along the small of Doctor Chopper's back, accosting him out the door and down the hallway. "So next time, instead of you suffering if I do not answer the phone, why don't you call in Doctor Kobato? I do believe she owes me a favor, and I'm sure -"

His colleague threw him a scathing glance over his shoulder as he unlocked his office and welcomed Law inside. "Doctor Kobato?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "She's a pediatrician. And she faints at the sight of blood!"

"All the better, then," Law chuckled, "She'll never overcome her fear without exposure, right?"

Chopper collapsed in the chair behind his desk, which was nearly pristine, the only personal effects being a handful of framed photographs. The wall behind him was lined with a sturdy bookshelf, which Law had already begun to peruse.

"Why don't you just answer the call, Doctor Trafalgar?" Chopper pleaded. "I don't want you to get in trouble..."

"Noble of you," Law remarked. "If it'll make you feel better, today I'll cover - what are you doing right now anyway?"

"I was headed to the clinic to clock some hours there."

Gritting his teeth, Law shrugged his annoyance aside. "Very well, then, I'll take over your clinic hours and allow you a break then, how's that?"

Chopper giggled like a small child. "Would you do that for me, Doctor?" His rounded cheeks were particularly pronounced with his gleaming smile. "That would be wonderful!"

"Uh-huh," Law murmured, hardly paying attention anymore. He pulled out a bound periodical and his eyes widened. "Is this yours?" he asked, deviating from the topic again. He pressed the volume in question under his cohort's nose.

"Huh?" Chopper's eyes met Law's and then lowered to the journal cover. "Oh, _Deutsche Medizinische Wochenschrift_?" he asked, "Do you read German?"

The surgeon's eyes darkened, and he waved the young boy aside dismissively. "Of course I do. What I mean is, do you or do you not subscribe to all these infernal medical journals?"

Chopper looked offended. He gestured behind him to the full wall of medical literature. "Of course _I _do," he responded with as much scorn as he could muster. "And you would do well to read up on the latest from current medical research, as well, Doctor. Just because the heart hasn't changed in a thousand years doesn't mean that the methods of curing it haven't."

Law distinctively felt his left eye twitch. He knew for a fact he was far more advanced in technological renovations than when it came to Doctor Chopper. While his young coworker was successful, the boy liked to focus on remedial and herbal cures, rather than cold, hard solutions. He didn't seem to favor the ease of the white pill and the sharpness of the needle as much as Law did; he often complained to the board that such tactics lacked the proper human touch.

That aside, Law swallowed his pride. "There's just a couple journals in particular I'd be interested in procuring," he pressed. "If you receive copies, that is. I have a special patient that I think would benefit from my own personal research in the area of biomedical engineering."

Chopper chuckled, "You're very well versed in the topic already! But of course I have some. _The Annual Review_, I think, and _Biotechnology and Bioengineering_... would you like to borrow the latest issue?"

"Ah," Law held up his index finger. "All the issues you got, actually. Back until...oh, let's say 2005 to be safe."

"I wasn't..." Chopper shook his head nervously. "I wasn't even in medical school then!"

"Oh, you are young," Law frowned, "Well, whatever you have will have to do." He found the sections on the shelf and smirked, seeing each journal aligned and organized by topic and date. Ruthlessly, Law pulled out all the issues with one fell swoop, allowing them to topple to the floor.

"Hey!" Chopper shouted, but he was ignored. Law trashed the contents of one of the filing boxes on the desk and began to dump all the journals inside. Mildly bemused, Chopper watched as the usually sluggish and melancholy Doctor Trafalgar moved about with an uncanny speed and precision, quickly clearing out a good quarter of his second bookshelf. Three boxes stacked in his arms now, Law bent at the knees and picked them up easily, perching them on his bony shoulder.

"Thanks!" was the last word thrown behind him as Law made his way out of the room without another word. Chopper watched for a moment, and then he slammed both his fists on the desk, rattling his perfectly sharpened pencils.

"Oi!" he called down the hallway, his words falling on deaf ears, "What about bringing that file to oncology? What about working the clinic for me? Will you pick up the phone when you're on call? Answer me, Doctor Trafalgar! OI!"

But Law was already taking the nearest staircase to ground level, where he'd take the fastest train back to his flat and rip through the medical journals until dawn broke on the horizon. Because he was sure that somewhere in those pages, thousands though they may be, there was at least one article about a biomedical engineer who had successfully installed a cybernetic arm. A beautiful, state-of-the-art specimen, technology wasted on a nameless redheaded mechanic.

And this would be the surgeon's first step as to answering the question of _why_.

* * *

Nine hours, four pots of coffee, and nigh three thousand pages later, Law found what he was looking for. His muscles creaked in stiffness as he straightened in his chair and sat up properly, lowering his legs that had been tossed over the arm of the lounge. He thumbed the page and downed the last of cold, black coffee from his mug, before fishing reading glasses from his pockets in order to be sure.

"Vegapunk? But he's a physicist..." Law murmured to himself. "And who the bloody hell is Cutty Flam?"

The article was even more vague that he expected. The subject in question matched the bill: young male, mesomorphic physique, his left arm damaged irreparably in explosive trauma. According to the emergency medical team that evaluated the patient, the man's flesh was seared to the bone, raw marrow and strings of nerves dangling off the blackened remains of an arm, like tinsel on a dead tree. Despite this, the upper fore of the arm, and bicep, were undamaged largely until the shoulder, wherefore some nerves remained lively up until the skin. It was a highly misfortunate injury; there was no way to save the limb, and yet the structure of the wound would have left the patient in incomparable agony. Usually with explosive trauma of that severity, the nerves and vessels are incinerated, leaving the patient with a smaller surface area of pain receptors. Kid had no such luck.

The front line surgeon, who was not a doctor at all, but an engineer, could barely stumble through the necessary meatball surgery. His name was issued as Cutty Flam, likely a pseudonym, and he wrote that he perceived the wound as more an of "opportunity for the patient's future." Foolishly, he had elongated Kid's anguish in order to call a respected colleague, Vegapunk, and question him about an idea they'd been tossing around. He wanted to construct a cybernetic limb that would be prosthetic on the inside, but possess a mixture of real nerve endings and skin grafts on the outside. The oddity of the patient's injury, Flam had proposed, was the perfect case in order to test this theoretical limb out.

As he read along, Law found himself beginning to understand. At first he had thought that the medical genius and technological prowess required for Kid's arm meant that the man had friends in high places. In fact, it appeared to be the opposite. The scientists in the article wrote with an absolute disregard to the humane treatment of their patient. The medical record listed no use of treatment to the patient prior to the creation of the prosthetic and the surgery to attach it, besides a handful of antibiotics and only vial or two of cooked up morphine. The location of where the injury was acquired was not released, along with the patient's name or even ethnicity, but Law could presume. Cutty Flam was an American...the treatment was shoddy and materials were clearly scarce...and apparently Eustass Kid learned to wear lipstick in the deserts of Afghanistan.

"A soldier?" Law wondered, "Or a different side of the coin?"

Regardless, the patient was flown into a research center by Johns Hopkins, and within the week he was fitted with a revolutionary piece of biomedical engineering. Kid's nerves were stretched, twisted, and relocated, so that he retained optimal feeling in his outer forearm, his palm, and some of the back of his hand. In turn, he sacrificed feeling in his inside forearm and all of his upper arm toward his shoulder. Lastly, the radius and ulna were replaced with metal counterparts, and aside from a smattering of capillaries, the rest of the flesh underneath was synthetic. A majority percentage of the skin on the entire appendage was skin grafts grown from stem cells, which explained to Law the mild discoloration that resulted.

"A work of art..." Law finally surmised, closing the journal. "But what did you do, Eustass-ya, that warranted the United States Government to fund your treatment as a guinea pig? And where were you standing when you got your arm blown halfway to hell?"

* * *

Currently, that former patient was up late in his chop shop, arms covered in grease and his googles down around his eyes. He was fiddling with some metalwork, loving the way that he could make such unyielding material a putty beneath his fingers. He melded the last two edges together on his contraption and set the scalding, but shaped, piece aside to settle.

"What is it, Killer?" he asked. His best friend was lingering behind him, careful to not interrupt his work. Stepping forward, the blond sat down on the stool next to Kid and looked down at the work bench.

"What are you working on?" he questioned.

Kid brushed his goggles back up into his hair and smirked down at Killer. "You'll see," he said, "It's something new. Just give it time." He brushed the scraps off the surface and into the bin. "So, I know you found something. Spill it."

"Yes, sir." Killer pulled down the breathing mask from around his face, and Kid could briefly spot the burn scars that trailing from the side of his neck up until his lower lip. He saw the soft pink of Killer's tongue dart out and lick that old wound; a nervous habit, one that Kid would never admit he noticed quite often.

"Trafalgar Law, MD. Born in Reading, UK, his parents both English, although his mother was of Moroccan descent. They died in a automobile accident when he was four. He was in the backseat, but survived with only superficial damage. He was left in the care of his uncle, who rather rapidly sent the child off into a rather special program...it appears in order to support his gambling and, likely, drinking habit. He croaked a year later. Alcohol poisoning."

Kid's brow furrowed. "So is there any surviving family?"

"No," Killer said shortly. "But the program is what was the most difficult to research. It's covered with quite a bit of fancy paperwork, so I had to go by word of mouth. It's an so-called orphanage program run by a Spaniard named Donquixote Doflamingo. He's -"

"I've heard of him." Kid was washing up now, wiping the grease and sweat off his face with a rather filthy rag. "Member of the Bilderburg's Group? Owns about half the villas in Spain and the south of France?"

"That's the one," Killer supplied. "Except, his fortune is rather entangled into some odd-looking Swiss accounts. Rumors say human trafficking, others say chemical and biological weapons. But along with a handful of other young boys, he adopted Trafalgar into this boarding school program. Private schooling, medical school, all paid for out of pocket. The other boys went into different programs, and most seem to be working for the Donquixote man still to this day. But Trafalgar..."

Kid lifted his hand in order to quiet his friend. "He ran, I get it. It's not hard to piece together what went on in the shadows from that." The mechanic's eyes had a certain glint in them as he looked up toward the blonde. "The doctor's got some demons in his past, doesn't he?"

Standing, Killer reached out and wrapped his fingers around Kid's right arm, mainly where the skin was grafted and a bit off-color and shiny. "It's not like the others, Kid. He's not sewed up like Heat or a lost puppy like Wire. He's not looking for shelter. I know you like to take in outcasts, but -"

Kid shook off Killer's hand. He loathed to be touched where he could not feel on his body. He was rather proud of the strength and flexibility of his cybernetic arm, but it was at times like that in which he was reminded of the worth of a real arm and human touch. "I'm not going to fix him, Killer. He doesn't want to be fixed, and I'm not sure he can be."

"Then why are you wasting your time?"

"Wasting it?" Kid barked a loud and deep laugh, throwing his head back at the ceiling. "A broken piece of machinery will no longer run - stoppered gears and broken levers will chop the system to pieces. But humans aren't like that.

"Trafalgar may be broken, but he functions just fine. And I want to see what it is that makes that shot-to-shit bastard tick."

Killer sighed heavily and collapsed into his stool, laying his hands across his lap. "It's your decision, Captain," he conceded, watching the mechanic change his shirt and switch his goggles out for a black bandana. Kid fumbled in his pocket for a pack of smokes and lit up, taking a deep drag before he turned back to his friend.

"Let's go to Anker's tonight. I need a drink," he rubbed his lower back, "And a fuck, too."

Killer gathered his things and fell in place behind his captain. "What're you even working on?" he said, looking back over his shoulder at the old metal parts Kid was forming. The collection was a group of cylinders and a few sloping planes, all gleaning with the finest care. "That's no part I've ever seen before."

Kid chuckled, tossing the keys for the car to his friend and jumping in the passenger seat. "Something new, alright? Don't get nosy."

A heavy sigh sounded in the blackness of the car. If there was anything Killer specialized in, it was being nosy when it came to Kid's business. A few years his senior, Killer had known Kid since youth and viewed him much like a little brother. He only wanted to guarantee Kid's safety when he had failed in it before. It was a difficult task to take upon his shoulders, as Kid's impulsivity moved faster than the speed of light, and his moments of rage made him blinder than a battered bull.

Killer knew he owed Doctor Trafalgar an extraordinary debt. Although Kid and Law may have squared their differences regarding the life-saving care he had administered, Killer could never show enough gratitude. Kid was the blond's entire life, his sole drive to keep living after the tragedies of his past. When he was young, Killer had thought of Kid as akin to an unstoppable force, a forest fire that could ravage the earth and paint the skies red. But he knew better now. Kid had weaknesses and flaws, and many at that. Without proper care, like any human, he could perish, and that flame would be snuffed out forever.

It had been a cold night all those months ago when Killer had brought his friend to Law's doorstep. The doctor hadn't said much to him besides barking some orders for certain medical apparatus that Killer could hardly differentiate between. Once the wound had sealed, but the fever remained, Law had rapidly disposed of Killer and his incessant worrying.

"Get out of my house," he had ordered, pulling blood-coated gloves off his hands. "You can pace in the street for all I care."

"I'll stay," Killer had protested. "I'm not leaving his side."

The doctor wouldn't stand for it though, and Killer wound up being forcibly removed. For a man of such thin stature and high-class demeanor, Law was relatively strong and remarkably swift. "Please," Killer had said, right before the doctor had slammed the door in his face. The words had burnt his tongue coming out - when was the last time he had said such a thing so sincerely? "Please, I need him to live."

Law had looked down at the blond from the bridge of his condescending nose, and sniffed haughtily to match. "That," he had said, "is more obvious than you'd think."

Killer could still not forget those words for all the months that it had been. Trafalgar had pegged him right there in that moment, and it was only now, with much research later, that Killer was beginning to understand Law. The man was not just a surgeon by practice, but rather in everything he did. His hands did not shake, his fingers worked with more intricacy than a pianist, and his eyes could pick out a defect or weakness from twenty meters away. In short, he was the opposite of Kid.

Kid, in all matters except metalworking, was graceless. He was clueless to physical harm, especially on his own body, and although his hands were often steady, his emotions bled out of him like a head wound. That is not to say that Killer could dismiss his perceptiveness; after all, when Kid took a calm and logical outlook on the situation, he was far more adept at seeing the forest through the trees than any other person Killer had ever met. Even more so, he was incredibly swift at reading emotions...although how he chose to act on them was another story.

All in all, Killer didn't know whether to distrust Kid with the doctor or the doctor with Kid. They were both dangerous in his eyes, and both of them underestimated the other. Despite this, the two were drawn to each other with some sort of rampant glee. For now, it was not of an issue - but if the doctor kept prodding into Kid's insides, and if Kid kept trying to pick Trafalgar apart, Killer was sure that somebody's jaws were bound to snap down on somebody else's hand.

"Killer," Kid yelled in his year. "You fucking cunt, you just passed the pub!"

Killer slammed on the brakes and broke from his reverie to glance over his shoulder at the bar lights fading in the distance. He turned at the next light and began to work their way back to their destination. "Sorry, Kid," he said gruffly. "I was thinking."

"Clearly not about your driving," Kid snipped. They pulled into the pub's lot and Kid had to duck down to climb out of the low-ceiling vehicle. He scanned the crowd going in and then nudged Killer, who was locking the doors.

"Who is that bastard with the septum piercing? He's already making eyes at me."

Killer rolled his own eyes. "Bartolomeo, remember? The car junkie? He's the thug wouldn't leave you alone last Thursday."

Kid scratched his mess of flaming red hair, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't remember him at all."

"You need to stop drinking so much, Kid."

"Shut up, Mom," Kid goaded back. He clapped Killer on the shoulder. "I think that if I get a couple in me real quick, I could forget the fact that his face looks like someone took a club to it."

"Someone probably has," Killer eyed Kid's crooked nose. "And look who's talking."

Kid shoved Killer, who only stumbled to roll with the playfulness of the act. "Whatever, asshole. That -" he pointed directly at the fanged punk, "- is what I'm fucking if nothing's left at last call."

Killer wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Wear a condom," he advised.

Kid snickered. "Maybe I'll just let him suck my dick. What was his name again?"

"Bartolomeo."

Kid mouthed the name for a second and then shook his head. "Cuntface! Yeah, you with the busted tattoo!" he called over the crowd to the man fifteen ahead in line from them. Bartolomeo turned around, his face full of rage for a moment until he met Kid's eyes. He waved Kid over and the redhead smirked at Killer.

"Like I'd need to remember his name," Kid scoffed, dragging his friend along with him to the front of the line.

Killer stood there, listening to the inane conversation between the two brutish men, and rapidly deduced that he was in for a long night. Half-heartedly, he almost wished that the doctor had called tonight instead.

**Drop a review and motivate me, please! I need encouragement. I'm a lazy and insecure woman, give me some help here :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm sorry that this chapter is so choppy, but I just had so many points I wanted to cover, and it just involved a lot of jumping around. It'll be more linear later, I promise.**

Kid woke up feeling absolutely disgusting. He felt overheated, sticky, and his right arm had gone completely numb. Cracking open his eyes proved more difficult than he could have imagined, and he realized he never got the chance to wash off his make up last night. Looking down at his chest, the answer as to why was easily supplied.

Across his bare and scarred chest, a man with hideously gelled hair and fanged incisors had drooled from the crest of his pectorals to the dip of his belly button. Kid scowled and his eyes scanned the discarded clothing around the room, the still open and leaking bottle of lube on his end table, and the filthy used condom half-hanging out of the trash bin.

"Get the fuck off of me," Kid grated out, his voice sore and gravelly. The man on his chest clenched his brow and slurped in his own puddle of drool before slowly inching upward, his eyelashes fluttering.

More patient than he could have imagined, Kid waited for the stranger to come to, and then watched as he also took inventory of the room whilst wiping a string of saliva from his bloated lips. "Eustass?" he asked, his voice equally rough and exhausted. He touched his temples and rubbed a languid circle on each, trying to alleviate a no-doubt killer hangover.

"At least somebody knows who's who," Kid scowled. He sat up and grabbed a shirt he didn't recognize from the edge of the bed and used it to wipe the spit off of himself before handing it to the stranger.

"Shit, Eustass, do you even have a liver anymore? I'm Bartolomeo. We met like last week? I guess we went home together from the bar last night."

Kid grunted affirmatively, "Yeah, I do remember one thing," he reached out and tapped the bottom the the man's sharp teeth. "I remember I had to rip your ugly mug off of my cock before you punctured holes into it."

"Shut up," Bartolomeo snapped, pushing Kid's hand away. "I don't need your bull right now. My boyfriend is gonna have my balls for this."

Pushing off the bed, Kid stood and began to scavenge for his own clothing. He looked up over his boxers, which he held between his forefinger and thumb at arm's length. "You have a boyfriend?" he rolled his eyes, "You're such an idiot. Please tell me the twink isn't going show up here in a week." He eyed the poor sap on his bed, "I may pity the bastard, but that doesn't mean I'll go easy on him."

Bartolomeo shook his head, "No, I'll just have to spend a bloody fortune on flowers. We...it was an open relationship, but we decided to make things more...mono - mono ..."

"Monogamous?"

"Yeah. But fuck me if I can remember that when I'm half a bottle in."

Kid flung the pants and jeans that weren't his at Bartolomeo's head. "You're still a retard. I may not have anyone in my life, but I know if I did I wouldn't go around messing up what I got."

Pulling on his jeans, Bartolomeo sneered back at Kid. "Let's see you say that when you really do settle down, you mother -"

He froze and sat down very swiftly, his face in the oddest expression. Kid waited a good minute for his to finish, but Bartolomeo just started wriggling and shifting back and forth in place, his knees clenched together.

"What the bloody hell is it?" Kid demanded. "Don't have a damn nervous breakdown now."

"No, I -" he squirmed again. "I think I have to shit. Real fucking bad."

Kid turned around, his attention completely evaporated. He pulled a shirt over his head and used tissues to clean up the leaking lube on his table. "Don't be dumber than you look," he said, "It's just because of last night."

Bartolomeo squinted up at Kid. "That's rich coming from a guy who barely remembers it."

Kid faced his guest again and lowered his head right before the man's darkened and threatening eyes. He gripped a handful of the guys hair in his hand and turned his face up toward him. "Don't tell me..." Kid breathed, just close enough that it lingered on Bartolomeo's cheeks, "...that this is your first time as bottom?"

The redhead had years of experience reading honesty in someone's eyes. There was no need for a verbal answer. Kid dropped Bartolomeo's head and bared his next as he laughed. "Oh, now that is wonderful!" he snickered as his laughter died down. "I can't believe I stuck it in a virgin hole last night and I don't even remember it!"

Bartolomeo just sat and sulked at Kid's reaction. "It burns, too. Damn. Are you sure I don't have to take a dump?"

"Pretty sure," Kid remarked seriously. "You can sit on the toilet as long as you want though. It's down the hall to the right."

His guest nodded and stood, buttoning his jeans properly this time before leaving the room. Kid watched him go with an smirk playing on his lips.

As much as he might have been a nice warm body to sleep besides that night, Kid was glad he wasn't steady friends with a jerk like that. He located the man's wallet and pulled out some credit cards, thumbed through some crumpled pound notes, and then flicked through at least seventeen pictures stuffed in the back compartments. Each one was a different photo-shoot quality image of some blonde price charming type. Must be the elusive boyfriend. Kid was sure from the man's apparent vanity that he was a real prima donna type, but if a raggedy thug like Bartolomeo kept every damn picture in that heavy chained black wallet, then he really must be worth something to the guy.

_What an idiot,_ Kid scoffed, putting everything back where it had been. To go and mess something up like that, and then think it could be appeased with a bundle of flowers. The longest relationship Kid had ever had lasted nigh on four months, and that was when he was sixteen, hustling in Chicago. She had been a loud and brash woman, and already Kid had been fed up with her before her fiance showed up at his doorstep and bashed his face in. That was Kid's first encounter with a soldier, and it wouldn't be his last.

Kid never had the ability to pretend or lie; it was a talent that simply did not reside in his repertoire. He had fun with somebody until he was sick of them, and likely they got sick of him as well. He used to pick his partners just like he picked his friends; somebody with a good collection of scars, and maybe even some fresh bruises. Innocence and meekness generally repelled him, and he found people who were unable to stand on their own two good legs disturbingly unattractive.

"Oh mother of god..."

Kid stopped stripping the sheets off of his bed as his eyes turned to the hallway where Bartolomeo stood only in his boxers, his legs shaking. "Wha -" Kid was about to ask, but then he saw it: a thin river of think, white-clear liquid slowly creeping down Bartolomeo's quaking thigh.

"Well," Kid chuckled, "I guess we did it a second time without the condom. I sure hope you don't have anything."

Bartolomeo met Kid's eyes, his own pupils shaking in horror. "I-I don't but..oh _shit_," he whispered.. "It feels like I'm peeing from my asshole, you bloody bastard. And it's _cold_."

Kid couldn't help but cackle this time. "Clean yourself up then, you disgusting fool. Don't drip on my carpet."

Shaking his head, the guest trudged back into the bathroom. "I don't know why I idolized you so much, Eustass," he huffed as he closed the door.

On the other side, Kid shrugged. "Neither do I," he answered honestly. "Neither do I."

* * *

It was around noon that Kid's lunch was interrupted by some incessant bastard knocking on the door. Bartolomeo has retired from the toilet and was still fumbling around in the lukewarm bath, while Kid regularly pestered him every half hour for being such a drama queen.

"Come in," Kid called out gruffly from around a mouth full of food.

The front door jangled for a minute and then opened. Trafalgar Law waltzed inside, dressed in his street clothes for once. His hoodie was a bit oversized and his jeans a bit too tight, but he flashed his normal half-mad smile. Cradled in the delicate fingers of his right hand Law waved back and forth a square-lined bottle right in front of Kid's face.

"What?" Kid snapped, swatting the bottle aside. "Don't wave that shit in my face, what is it?"

Law turned the bottle toward himself and read off the label. "Johnie Walker Blue Label Blended Scotch Whiskey." He went to tuck it back into the front pocket of his hoodie. "And here I'd thought you'd help me polish it off. It's hard being such a lightweight, you know."

Kid went to snatch the bottle from Law's hands, but Law pulled back, dancing out of the way. "Ah, ah, ah!" he chided. "Why don't we hang out at my place for once, so I don't have to put up with that maned mother you call Killer?"

"Shut up," Kid murmured, "he's napping. If you wake him, he'll live up to his namesake, you know." He eyed the scotch and the playful grin he was getting from the surgeon. "Where did you get that from, anyway?"

"A patient," Law responded, settling down on the couch. He picked at Kid's plate and eventually popped a piece of sushi in his mouth. "This from the market two blocks down? California roll?"

Kid nodded and handed Law another piece. The doctor surprised him by eating it right from between Kid's fingers. "What's got you prancing around, princess?"

Law chewed his mouthful and then licked his lips clean of stray rice. "Nothing, just taking the day off. Well deserved, I'd say." He placed the bottle on the coffee table and threw one leg over the other as he sat back. "Last night some freckled kid nearly barged into my place looking to get some burn wounds dressed. He didn't have any money, but he handed me that. It feels good sometimes to do some charity work."

"This bottle can go for well over two hundred dollars," Kid commented. "That ain't charity work."

"Sure it is," Law said. "I hardly drink that poison. Besides, I would have charged him double any other day."

Kid scowled. "You really are a rip-off." He got up and walked to the closed bathroom door, giving it a polite rap of the knuckles.

"You almost done in there?" he called inside, "I got a friend over and we're gonna be heading out, so I need you to wrap up, ok?"

An affirmative grunt came from the other side of the door, and Kid could hear the gurgle of dirty bathwater rushing down the drain. Law raised an eyebrow from his seat on the couch.

"Another sexual partner, Eustass-ya?" he teased, "As you're physician, I recommend you get more regular check ups for -"

But Law never got to finish his sentence, because he swallowed his words when the bathroom door open. Bartolomeo stumbled out, fixing his septum piecing with his left hand and pulling up a pair of borrowed sweatpants with the right. He handed a damp towel he was using on his hair to Kid, who accepted it and tossed it into the laundry bin, before handing the man back his band tee from the night before.

"Killer washed and dried it, and your jeans are on my bed," Kid said. "So get lost, would you?"

Bartolomeo nodded and headed off to Kid's room to change. Meanwhile, Law found his bearings. "That's a different tattooed and pierced face around here. A friend of a friend?" he asked.

Kid shook his head. "Nah, you guessed right the first time," he answered as he pulled his jacket on. "We fucked after the bar last night and he just apparently can't take a backdoor visit." He shrugged. "Hell, it's not for everybody."

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a homosexual," Law tried to comment as off-handedly as possible. He didn't move from his place on the couch, but merely eyed the closed door to Kid's room suspiciously.

"Homosexual?" Kid scoffed. "It isn't 1970 anymore. I'd stick my wanker where I'd like, thanks. If you got a problem with it, you can leave that scotch behind and sod off."

Law threw up his hands in mock surrender, a smile twisting the corners of his lips. "Not at all, Eustass-ya. Far be it for me to judge."

Bartolomeo left shortly following that, thanking Kid rather brusquely, a somewhat defeated stride in his walk. Kid snatched the bottle off the counter and nudged Law for them to get going. "Come on, faggot police," he said, "Let's get out of here before Killer wakes and starts looking for blood."

Law nodded and pushed himself off the couch, following obediently after Kid. Although he returned the mechanic's comments easily enough, the glitter that was formerly in the surgeon's eyes had gone out, and in its place was the cold and iron sense of dread.

* * *

Outside of Trafalgar Law's cramped apartment, it was pouring rain into the dusty streets, washing around the grime of scuffled boots and another miserable work day. But inside, the dim lights were almost warm upon the two men who laid sprawled out on the couch.

Law's glass of scotch sat on his reading table, leaving a thick ring of condensation in its place, as it was only half-finished and likely would not be touched again for the rest of the evening. Kid rested his own glass on his stomach, sipping on it regularly, working on the bottle on the coffee table down to the half way point. He lazily flipped through channels, often stopping on something inane or random before making a comment and passing on. Law indulged him, listening and bantering back appropriately, although the mass percentage of his concentration was dedicated to the book he was devouring in his lap.

Kid had placed his legs in the doctor's lap over an hour ago, and the doctor made no move to shove them off or complain. Instead, he used the man's calves as a book rest and continued to flip the pages with nigh languid disinterest.

"Iron Man," the mechanic commented off-handedly, stopping on a movie channel.

"I can see that." Law glanced up from his reading. "Do you feel some sort of brotherly connection with him?"

Kid chuckled, "He's a hero, Trafalgar. Look at me. Maybe those books have rotted your eyesight?"

"My eyesight remains at 20/20, Eustass-ya, which is why I can see past that point and observe other facets of your similarities: both of you are rude manwhores, correct?"

"Jealous?" Kid snickered.

"Hardly," Law gritted his teeth. "That fanged boar you had in your bed last night was far from my type."

"How about me, then?"

The doctor tossed the mechanic the most scathing glance he could muster. "Disgusting," he cursed, the lower part of his left eye twitching. "Are you trying to flirt with me? Has it ever occurred to you that I like women?"

Kid tossed his head back to give his usual rowdy laugh up at the ceiling. "Has it ever occurred to you, Trafalgar," he began, as he moved his right foot to the inside of Law's thigh to trace his toes down toward the man's bony knee, "that the one thing I'm best at is seeing a lie in somebody's eyes?"

Law scoffed deep in his throat and disdainfully shoved Kid's feet off his lap. "I'm glad you have such an astute gaydar, Eustass-ya, but that doesn't mean that I'm into you."

"Fine," Kid surrendered, "Whatever makes you sleep at night. So what is the reason for trying to get me drunk?"

All that touched Law's lips was one of his all-knowing smirks, as he reached across the table and refilled Kid's glass. "I just wanted to share an evening with a friend. Is that so much to ask?"

Kid accepted the liquor and brought the chilled amber to his painted lips. "Lie as much as you'd like, Trafalgar. I wouldn't have passed up Blue Label no matter what the reason."

Absentmindedly, Law rubbed Kid's sock-clad feet as he continued to read his book over the sound of machine guns and weaponry on the television. He filled Kid's glass two more times within that hour, and by eight in the evening, when he had finished his copy of Cardiac Surgery: Operative Technique for the second time, he noticed that the mechanic had fallen asleep.

The man did not sleep gracefully. His right arm was sprawled over the side of the sofa, and the remote had tumbled from his fingers and on to the floor. Lips slightly parted, he did not snore but did have a propensity to breathe heavily, and it was simple to ascertain that, given more time, the man would begin to drool.

"I assume that you are knocked out, Eustass-ya," Law spoke to the unconscious figure. There was no movement on his end. "Well," he concluded, pushing Kid's feet off of his lap and getting up, "It is best to be safe."

Unaware, the last thing that happened to Kid on that couch was a sharp and professionally clean needle that sunk deep into his basilic vein and unloaded a healthy dosage of general anesthesia into the leaking vessel. The redhead would not wake for the next two hours.

* * *

When Kid came to, he was much more displeased than he had been in the morning. First of all, he was in pain. Without even opening his eyes, he had the distinct feeling that somebody had run his left arm through a sandpaper mill. And although he could tell it had been numbed - his tingling shoulder was familiar sign - it had not been enough for his body size, as was the common shortcoming of every surgery he had ever undergone.

Thinking of surgery gave the mechanic a hint as to what was going on. After all, he recalled passing out on the doctor's sofa well aware that the Trafalgar likely had some sort of sinister plan. But what was he fussing around on his arm for? Kid wouldn't have been surprised if he had woken with one less kidney, and hell, he doubted if he would've even been put out by it. Yet the arm...and that arm in particular...

"You ought to be thanking me," he heard Law speak from above him. His voice sounded tired, and muffled as though a mask. Sure enough, when Kid opened his eyes, Law was straddled over Kid's hips, his mouth covered with a surgical mask. His hands were gloved, and his hair wrapped back, but otherwise the man was free of scrubs. Kid's stomach involuntarily flipped over at the sight of discarded dead skin and excess blood that pooled around his left arm on the dressed and sterilized side table.

"These skin grafts ought to have been monitored for circulation, and it was clear that they were not. The nerve damage would have spread and likely could have resulted in infection that would have lost you the precious bit of sensory development you have in this limb." He took a set of tweezers and peeled off a sector of the sick-colored, synthetic flesh that covered Kid's left arm, placing it in a sample tray.

"I read the entire article three times over, but it's much more interesting up close. Doctor Vegapunk and Engineer Cutty Flam really outdid themselves. The only way I could imagine that surgery like this was possible was if..." Law's mouth may have been covered, but Kid could see the smile in his eyes, "...you agreed to endure agonizing pain, a stimuli beyond the measurements of any dolorimeter, for at least seventy-two hours."

Kid tried to move his right arm, but realized that it had been secured to the table by leather straps, as well as his lower limbs. "I know what happened to me. I was awake the entire time. You could have just asked me instead of picking me apart." His voice was weak and lilting in and out of a true tone and a whisper, likely due to the medication.

"And where is the fun in that?" Law said. He unlocked a sealed box that had been set aside and Kid observed the chill rise from the insides as he removed its contents. "Besides, you will be rewarded." The surgeon waved the plastic-sealed biological parts in his face. "New skin grafts, expertly designed and specialized just for you, fresh from the black market. I traded a rare AB kidney for these, Eustass-ya. You really should be grateful."

The mechanic swallowed the bile that rose in his throat as he watched the doctor take apart the new skin grafts and situate their positions atop the manufactured flesh and the quivering arteries. He forced himself to keep his eyes open, like he had done all those years ago, as he watched as Law stretched the pre-meshed skin over his limb and fitted it tightly. He bit his lip and tasted iron when the skin was fastened to the currents of his silicone and metal muscle, and then allowed himself to hiss when the doctor finally began to stitch.

Law's hands paused, and as he held them still, they didn't shake in the slightest. "Would you like more morphine?"

"No," Kid murmured. "Just stop dawdling and get on with it."

"I want to do it right," the doctor answered, "So I'm going to take my time."

Kid rolled his eyes and tried the leather straps one time, as tempted as he was in this moment to slap the older man across the back of his head. But the strength that had been sapped from him by the pain and the medication prevented him from working his muscles properly. "If that's how it's going to be," Kid conceded, "then give me a gag."

"What makes you think I have something like that?" Law asked, but nevertheless, he reached into his side drawer and pulled out a leather strip that fastened in the back with breathing holes in the front. His eyebrows creased delicately as he stared into Kid's eyes, bringing the gag around the redhead's mussed-up hair. "Will you try to kill me after this, Eustass-ya?" Slick latex fingers touched the side of Kid's chin as Law caressed it gently, soothing the clenched jaw. "I know you can barely speak right now, judging by your pupil dilation, but you're very angry, aren't you?"

Nearly choking on his bloated tongue, Kid managed to answer. "I killed a dozen men for you and never asked questions. I put on a sick show of beating a woman half to death for you. I let you drink me to sleep."

"You trusted me," Law murmured, sounding disappointed.

"No," Kid chuckled. He forced a smile, although the pain shooting up his arm in that moment caused him to grind his teeth in the meantime and bare his sharpened incisors. "I just need you to trust me."

"What?" The surgeon pulled back the gag and stared at Kid intently. "What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean, Kid?"

A red tongue ran over the teeth of the mechanic's smile. "Exactly that, Trafalgar. Exactly what just fell from your lips." He opened his mouth and tilted up his jaw, beckoning the surgeon with a lick of his upper lip. "Now gag me and be done with this. We don't have all night."

The surgeon obeyed, and when he drew the belt for the gag, he tightened it a bit more than necessary, so the bit was working into the corners of the redhead's mouth. Each stitch following was done with a slow and tenacious care, and although Kid could not speak, he watched with open and dancing eyes.

It took an hour to complete, and by that time, the sheet below Kid's arm was soaked through with his blood and dripping to the wooden panels below. Law meticulously washed the limb and the area around it, and then bandaged the fresh skin to prevent infection. All the while, he sat spread-legged over the mechanic's lap, his booted feet swaying on each side of the thin operating bed.

By this time, he had figured that Kid would have passed out, but the man still laid and stared at him, gag patiently between his reddening and raw lips. Finally, Law surrendered and undid the buckle that was tangled in the mess of Kid's hair, ripping out a good couple of strands in the process. The man winced, but did not complain. He practiced his jaw for a minute and tried to work out the pain and kinks that came from the stiffness before trying to speak.

"The skin looks incredibly natural," he remarked, "I'm impressed, Doctor."

"Don't fuck with me," Law snapped. "I betrayed you. I drugged you, I tied you down. What's your problem?" He rested his gloved and bloody fingers on Kid's adam's apple and lowered his face close enough to taste the mechanic's breath. "The man I knew from a few weeks ago would have been in a thrashing rage."

"Sorry, Doctor," Kid answered. He flexed his bandaged left arm and found that he could almost move it now. "I'm a bit of a child. I rage against things that I don't understand."

The surgeon scowled and pulled down his surgical mask, revealing his sleepless eyes and chapped lips. "You claim to understand me?"

"I learned more about you on this table than you could ever learn about me, even if you picked me apart to minced meat."

Law's grip on the man's neck grew more secure. "You want to make that scenario a reality?"

"No," Kid answered honestly, "but neither do you."

"Yeah?" Law snapped, "And what do you want to wager that on?"

"Oh, anything, really." Kid used his unsecured and still stinging left arm to reach up and lay his palm on Law's bony hip. "Because no matter how much morphine you pumped into me, I could still feel your raging boner this entire time."

The silence fell at the same time that Law's grip on the mechanic's neck slackened to a mere touch. The surgeon pulled his hands away and leaned back on his own hips, finally becoming fully aware of himself for the first time that night. He had been so enrapt in his plans, so enticed by the excitement of pulling the new specimen apart that he had hardly noticed, no, never noticed at all -

And how was that even possible? It had been years since Law had felt anything down there, no matter what he watched, no matter how he touched himself under the steam of the shower. He had slid from one extreme to another in his life, and when he took up the obsession with his medical career, he had abandoned any of the sexual self-certification that had tainted his past.

But there it was, as plain as day. His tight jeans were full and straining with his now obvious and uncomfortable arousal, and for the first time in many years, Law had realized that yet again his own body had betrayed him. Just by responding, just by the hideous hungers of sexual desire, he had lost the game he had been, up until then, winning.

"Fuck," he cursed, brushing Kid's wounded hand aside ruthlessly. "Fuck fuck fuck." He pushed himself to his feet and tried not to hide his shame as he stood beside the operating table. "I'm going -"

He looked over and met Kid's eyes for only a second, and then had to quickly look away. Instead of the self-righteous and arrogant smile that Law had expected, Kid's forehead was creased with concern, and his lips were pursed in decided silence.

"I'm going to get coffee," he announced. "And I want you the hell out of here when I get back."

He didn't wait for Kid's response. He didn't ask if the mechanic and part-time assassin would want to murder him instead. After all, what would be the point? The redhead had won from the very beginning. There was never even a need to fight.

**Well that was unexpected. Uh, leave a review s'il vous plait! **


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